


No Smoke Without Fire

by BeautifulFiction_FMA



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Language and threat., M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-08-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 146,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4177011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction_FMA/pseuds/BeautifulFiction_FMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago, an eleven-year-old boy robbed him of his dream. Now the time has come to take his revenge.</p>
<p>
  <i>Initially published 2009</i>
  <br/>
  <em>Abandoned</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

His hands shook, fumbling to grip the match as he rasped its tip along the sandpaper strip. Chemicals burst into life, spawning a flame that suckled greedily on the thin wood between his thumb and forefinger. A gasp of wind almost blew it out before he turned his back, shielding that precious spark of heat between himself and the wall as he lit a cigarette.

One deep breath and the smoke filled his lungs with poisonous clarity. The shaking subsided, driven back by the satisfaction of his need. The match, useless now, was flicked away, and he paid no attention to where it landed. He was too busy for such trivial things. At last he exhaled, and his gibbering mind calmed into one concise train of thought.

He should have stayed in the labs. He had been doing so well – even his doctor said so. Instead he was out here in the cold, struggling with each drag to keep the winter at bay. The street beneath his feet was slick with ice, and the huge stone lions guarding the library doors glittered with frost.

Thin, grey trails of smoke drifted in front of his face, and he narrowed his eyes to see through the haze. Some people were so predictable, stuck in the rut of their forsaken little lives. All he had to do was wait.

It did not take long. In a flash of crimson and gold he was there, walking down the treacherous steps with his nose stuck in a book.

Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.

The smoke turned bitter on his tongue as his lips twisted into a sneer of disgust. Fullmetal had been nothing more than a boy: an arrogant, bratty upstart who had broken every dream of success with a flare of dazzling alchemy. One clap and it was over. The Fuhrer had given Elric everything, and the army fell over itself to bind their new found “genius” into a contract.

A gleam of silver caught his eye and fury made him spit, hawking onto the ground. The pocket watch that should have been _his_ was tucked into that pocket, hidden apart from the seductive trail of its chain. He had worked endlessly to prepare himself for the state alchemy exams, only to be bested by a – a _child_.

For too many years he had stood here, smoking a cigarette and building his disappointment into the blackest of hates. The doctor said it was like a disease, festering away until it would kill him, but what did that quack know? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The state alchemy exams were a set up. They had to be. The rumours were enough to confirm that. People whispered in the shadows about the favours they suspected Fullmetal performed for his rank and his privilege. Perhaps that was all the army wanted: a pretty thing to lie on his back and spread his legs.

That thought comforted him. Even if Fullmetal had not been whoring himself from the beginning, then there could be no doubt about it now. It was in the way he walked and held himself; the flirtatious tilt of his lips when he smiled and his shielded, secretive looks of false innocence.

Perhaps these things alone could be forgiven, but he knew the truth of it. He had seen Elric talking to that commanding officer of his, Mustang, and it was embarrassing to watch. Fully clothed and feet apart they were still fucking with every glance and gesture. Faked anger did nothing to hide the passion, and the older soldier's barely concealed impatience did not mask the hunger in his eyes. It was indecent and repulsive, yet no one else seemed to notice.

Instead Fullmetal was hailed as the hero of the people. Others only saw the automail limbs - the cripple doing so much good for the world. They did not realise how deeply he had sunk into depravity; all they noticed was his so-called “brilliance”.

They would know soon enough. He would show them all how little their prodigy was really worth.

He should have acted sooner, he knew that, but the brat was never alone. There had always been a man in a suit of armour at his side, following the boy like a puppy would its master. Now that was gone. His only companion was a boy of roughly the same age: a brother or cousin, judging from the family resemblance. Such an escort could barely be considered protection.

Now! He could do it now! Adrenaline surged along his veins as he stared after the departing figure, fingers itching as his thoughts grew to a hot, buzzing heat behind his eyes. Dry lips were moistened by the quick dart of his tongue, and the prickle of sweat etched along his hairline despite the chill.

It took all of his strength to hold himself back, pressing his spine to the wall until he could feel the rough edge of every brick through his clothes. Fool! This had to be done right. A good teacher always prepared his lessons before handing them on to the student, and there were so many things that Edward Elric needed to learn.

Tonight.

He would do it tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

One deep breath, then another, and Ed emerged into consciousness like a drowning man breaking the surface of the ocean. A furious ringing filled his ears as stars danced across his vision, piercing his skull with their brilliance. Every gasp of air made his stomach churn and his temples throb in time to the thrum of his heart, and he blinked at the darkness all around him.

It was bone-achingly cold, and it took him a moment to realise that he had been stripped down to his leather pants. Icy stone pressed against his bare back, making his automail twinge. Clouds formed with every breath that passed his lips, and the only warmth was the steady trickle of blood seeping down the side of his face.

What had happened? Where was he?

Hazy memories crystallised into diamond-sharp focus: a dark shape leaping from the shadowy night; Al's surprised cry of pain and, before he could even react, the “crack” of something smashing into his temple with a strength born of utter hate.

Ed tried to pull himself upright only to groan in shocked discomfort as he realised that he was manacled to the floor. His wrists were pinned, arms stretched out to either side at shoulder height. A gentle tug confirmed that his ankles were locked down in the same fashion, held together under a heavy bar, and another band encircled his waist, holding him still.

'Al?' he called out, clearing his throat as the single word rasped between his parched lips. 'Al, are you there?'

No answer, and already his mind was reeling with gruesome scenarios. He had fought so hard to return Al to his body, had been so flushed with success when he got his little brother back whole and healthy. Now all he could think was that, in the armour, at least Al couldn't be hurt. Made of flesh, he was vulnerable: weak despite everything he said to the contrary.

Was he lying out of sight, bleeding and broken? Had he only been injured or – ? Ed cut himself off. He wasn't even going to _think_ that Al might be dead. He did not go through all those years of searching for the Stone only to lose his brother now.

Clenching the muscles in his arms, he heaved against the restraints that pinned him to the floor, flexing until his shoulder burned with the effort and dappled shadows bloomed across his vision. 'Fuck,' Ed spat, ignoring his aching head as he continued to struggle. Whoever was behind this knew what they were doing. They hadn't underestimated the strength of his automail like so many others had in the past.

A shiver trembled over his skin, and sweat turned frigid across his forehead as he squinted at the distant ceiling. It looked like he was in a warehouse of some kind, but the gloom was so dense he could almost chew it. Metal rafters created stripes of darker black amidst shades of grey, and he could make out the sliver of the crescent moon through the rust-gnawed roof.

He'd probably only been out for about an hour, and there was enough blood pooled under his head and matted in his hair to suggest he'd been lying in this position for most of that time. At least he was still in Central, but why was he here? Who had done this to him?

Anger blazed through his veins, shoving aside the growing fear of his own helplessness. No one kept him chained up like some kind of animal, not for long. Steel scraped on steel, and he snarled as his flesh wrist began to sting, rubbed raw against the unforgiving cuff.

Somewhere in the darkness, something clicked, and bulbs stuttered into life, chasing aside the twilight and making Ed turn away, closing his eyes against their glare. When he opened them again, he could see lines drawn in black ink on the concrete floor. They unfurled like seaweed all around him, spreading out for more than a dozen feet in each direction.

He was at the wrong angle to see the whole picture, but the designs surrounding his body were enough to pour liquid ice down his spine. Ed would have to have been blind not to recognise the basic alchemical components arranged around him like jewels on a pillow. Each one was precisely, perfectly drawn, bringing together a confusion of elements.

It was all there: he had stared blankly at Mustang's gloves for too long not to recognise the faint influence of fire, and Armstrong's earth was bound into the lines. Air and water joined them, mingled with a greater number of sigils that he wished he didn't know. He'd drawn them himself, charting them out on a wooden floor with childish hands and the purest kind of hope.

He was lying in an array designed for human transmutation. Ed didn't know what it would do, but he doubted that it would leave him in one piece. The pulse that hammered through his body accelerated further, and a nervous sound caught in his chest. Whatever this design was for, he would bet anything it would take him back to the Gate.

Panic flashed through him, fluttering across his sight like moth wings. It had been more than a year since he had been there last, trying with all his will to control the roar and rage of alchemy around him as he had fought to get Al's body back. He had hoped that he would never set eyes on that thing again, and now someone, some idiot who didn't know what they were messing with, was going to drag him back to that plane and make their demands.

Ed frowned, feeling hard fury wipe away the fear. He'd kill them first.

Footsteps paced steadily across the floor, and Ed rolled his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as the room performed a drunken waltz. The scent of cigarette smoke tickled his nose, and his heart leapt. Havoc! Al had got help and they'd found him somehow. It was going to be all right!

His relief was short-lived, and despair clenched in his guts as logic slipped to the fore of his mind. Jean wasn't the only man in the city who smoked, far from it. Just because one of Ed's senses told him that he was safe, that didn't mean it was true.

Ed forced his gritty eyes to focus on the man who stood at the edge of the circle, his heart sinking as he saw no sympathy in the stranger's expression. A cigarette was held between his lips, letting off a faint trail of ghostly smoke that curled in front of his face. He'd probably been good-looking once, but now deep shadows dug in under his eyes and stubble littered his jaw. He was gaunt, as if he spent too much time smoking and not enough eating, and grey peppered his brown hair.

He wasn't military: he didn't dress like it and he didn't stand right. His body was slouched but twitchy. Every little movement was too fast and uncontrolled. For all the blankness of his face, the man's eyes told another story, fixed on Ed and burning with too many emotions to follow. None of them were happy or kind. Instead he looked at Ed with loathing and disgust, as if his very presence repulsed him.

It was instinctive to try and cover the automail, to hide the scars, but Ed couldn't move. He was sprawled and exposed, half-naked beneath the brutal lights, and he forced himself not to flinch as he met that volatile gaze.

They watched each other like hunter and prey, each waiting for the next to make the first move and, with every passing second of silence, Ed's memory jumped and sparked. He felt like he should know him, like he'd seen him somewhere before. They'd never spoken, he knew that much, but that didn't mean this bastard wasn't part of the background of Ed's life. One of the crowd, not noticed but still half-recalled.

'Who are you?' he demanded, ignoring the rasping of his voice in his throat. He tried to lift his head a little, anything to stop him feeling like a bit of meat on a slab waiting to be carved, but it hurt too much, and he slumped back to the unforgiving ground. 'What the fuck do you want?'

A thin, lizard-like smile twitched the man's lips, and he withdrew the cigarette, tapping ash onto the floor as his hunched shoulders moved in a shrug. 'I'm a teacher,' he said quietly. His voice was educated and placid, as if the events that unfolded were no more unusual than taking a stroll down the street. 'They still have so much to learn.'

'What – ?' Ed's next question died on his tongue as the man stepped into the circle, moving with an elegant grace so as not to disturb the design. There hadn't been much doubt that he was an alchemist, but the last uncertainty in Ed's mind faded like morning mist as he watched him approach. His stride was slow, almost reverent, and he didn't miss the fact that the stranger's eyes took in every line with pride, lingering on those that drifted away from the ground's canvas and up onto Ed's chest in thick swathes of black. This – whatever it was – was his work. 'Let me go!'

'Can't do that.' He stopped at Ed's side, feet balanced in the empty spaces between the runes as he looked down at Ed critically. 'I have to show them what you really are. They call you a “genius”.' A tic stuttered in the man's jaw as he clenched it, and when he spoke again there was the first flare of anger in his word. 'Maybe you are, but that's not why they took you in. You lay on your back and got your way – got what should have been mine!'

He reached down towards Ed's belt, hesitating when Ed flinched away with a snarl. 'Keep your hands off me!'

The man's mouth twisted in a sneer. 'You flatter yourself, boy. This is one problem you can't screw your way out of.' A brief laugh shimmered on the air as he added, 'I know exactly whose beds you've been in; I wouldn't touch someone as used as you. This is what I want.' He grabbed the chain of Ed's pocket-watch and pulled at it as hard as he could, smiling in triumph as it came free in his hand.

Lamplight poured over the silver like liquid wealth, winking mockingly at Ed as the man turned it over in his hands, tracing the engraving with his fingertips. 'You should never have been given this. No whore's worth so much.'

'I don't even know what you're talking about,' Ed growled, struggling hopelessly against the metal banding his wrists. 'I earned that watch through alchemy, nothing else!'

'Liar!' A fist slammed into the side of his head, right over the bloody gash. Sparks of pain ignited into a wildfire, roaring through Ed's aching skull. His stomach squeezed, and he swallowed against the sharp sting of dizzy bile. Bad enough he was lying in blood. He wasn't going to throw up and add to the mess.

'I see the way you look at your commanding officer – the way he looks at you. Repulsive.' The man stepped back, picking his way to the edge of the array before he slipped the watch into his pocket. 'I can't allow you to carry on. State alchemists are good, noble men. I can't let you continue with your – your deceit.'

Ed looked at him, trying to wrap his throbbing mind around what was happening. His commanding officer – Mustang? This _freak_ thought he was screwing around with Mustang? Ed's lashes fluttered closed, his face twisting in pain as he wetted his lips, tasting the iron tang of blood. He tried to deny it, but his words fell on deaf ears as the man began to pace the circumference, checking the details of his design.

Blinking up at the ceiling, Ed struggled to control the half-hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble in his chest. This couldn't be happening; it just couldn't. He was going to get dragged to the Gate where maybe he'd die and maybe he wouldn't, but either way it was going to _hurt_ – all because this son of a bitch had seen the way he looked at Mustang – had seen... .

Ed swallowed, knowing just what had probably been written all over his face. He'd never been any good at hiding his feelings, not like Roy, and if some stranger had seen it did that mean the whole world knew? Did everyone look at him and see the humiliating, breathless want for a man he'd never so much as touched?

As if Roy'd want him like that, anyway.

'What are you going to do?' he asked eventually, his voice cracking on the words as he tried to coerce his heavy eyelids to remain open. He felt sick, weak, and furious with himself for his frailty. 'What's the array for?'

'It will show them what you really are. You used your alchemy to blind them to the truth. If the other officers know what you and that – that man get up to, they don't dare say anything: don't dare lose your so-called “brilliance”.' Brown eyes flickered up to Ed's face, and they were glassy with delight. 'Without that, they'll be free to act. Free to punish you as you should be!'

Either he wasn't making much sense, or Ed was too punch-drunk to understand his logic. The bastard thought he'd slept his way into the army; it wasn't exactly a new rumour, but no one had ever acted on the gossip. Now, he was going to do – something. Ed didn't even know what, but that didn't stop his stomach twisting itself in knots.

Licking his lips, Ed screwed up his face, trying to get the words to come out right as his vision lurched. 'And if you're wrong? If I did get in with nothing more than my alchemy?'

The man smiled, his face lit with happiness as he beamed at Ed. 'Then they'll have no choice but to give me the state qualification! I'll have all your talent with alchemy, and you'll have nothing! Mustang won't have any reason to keep you, and if he tries, you'll both suffer the consequences!'

'What?' Ed choked. He couldn't have heard that right. This guy couldn't really think it was possible to steal someone else's alchemical ability, could he? 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'It's so simple. So, so simple.' The stranger's voice dropped to a murmur, no longer really talking to Ed. He was speaking for his own benefit as he resumed his original position, staring blankly down at his masterpiece. 'Alchemists are connected to some kind of power source. Each connection is unique and different, moulded by a person's education in the alchemical arts and their experience with transmutation. It will work. It will work.'

Ed shuddered, biting his lip as the ramblings sank like hot lead through the butter of his mind. It wasn't a new theory; he'd heard it before and seen something akin to proof for himself. The power source was the Gate, and all alchemists could reach out and channel some of that energy into their transmutations. It was what brought the circles to life and made their science a reality, but that didn't mean that this would work.

'You don't know what you're messing with,' he mumbled, his words feeling garbled and alien on his tongue. 'You don't know what you're going up against. Forget it. Trust me, just forget it.'

'It'll work.' The man laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Hollow and vacuous, his expressions seemed inhuman as he hunkered down at the edge of the array, staring at his upturned palms before he steadily rotated his hands and pressed them down to the circle. 'I know it'll work, and I'll have everything: the watch, the power, everything!'

Ed's breath caught in his chest as the lines glowed, getting brighter with every passing second. He writhed and twisted, panic giving him strength he didn't know he had as he felt the transmutation begin to take hold. It hummed in his ears and whispered over his skin, making his scalp prickle and his flesh shudder with goosebumps of fear. The air stank of hot tin, and desperate pleas burnt the tip of his tongue, locked in behind his lips.

He'd never begged before, and there was no way he was going to start now.

The light filled everything, blanking out his vision from one edge to the other – white on white and no going back. Memories skittered through his mind, mingling together in a gruesome flash of sin and redemption. Recollections skittered through his head: losing Al and getting him back, bodies, broken and whole in the cradling curve of a circle and, underpinning it all in fragrant discord, the reek of blood and alchemy.

He shut his eyes, trying to find the courage to face the changing world around him. Part of him still lay there bound in iron, cold concrete at his back and his heart racing in his chest, but that was fading. He couldn't smell the chilly night any more – couldn't sense anything but the howl of energy around him and the steadily growing presence of the Gate.

There was one thing he had never dared to tell Al – one thing he couldn't find the words to express: to some part of him, the fear was meaningless, because turning up on the threshold felt like coming home. Some small fraction of his being belonged here, and it thrilled at the knowledge contained within the Gate's frame. It thirsted to step between those doors and lose itself within the core of All, even if that meant leaving behind flesh, blood, bone and life in equivalent exchange.

Weakly, Ed looked over at the man who had started this. The array stretched between them, flung wide like the wings of a bird, and Ed followed each line with his eyes as he tried to understand. The design was greater than the sum of its parts, like all good arrays; he could see that, and yet he didn't understand what it did. His head was too thick with pain, and his gaze skated away from the glowing epitaph of energy, lifting to the alchemist who had brought him back here.

He looked awed, as if, in all his imaginings, he had never expected to set eyes on such a thing. His expression was shorn of its cruelty, and Ed grimly wondered if that was how he had looked as a child: naïve and excited at the prospect of knowing the force behind the world's alchemy. The fool didn't know any better; he didn't know what waited for them both. The Gate would see his demands and take its price, regardless of whether or not either of them could afford to pay.

Yet this time, things were different, Ed realised. Not with the Gate, its plane was the same as ever, tinged with a sallow light that hurt his eyes. No, the situation was turned around. For once, he was not the one in control. He was a pawn, nothing more. He was a victim of circumstance, and he had no doubt he would bleed for his bad luck.

'I knew it!' the man exclaimed, his voice lilting on a laugh of joy. 'I knew there was something here!' His elation diminished as he took a hesitant step forward, and he looked over his shoulder at Ed with a sneer. 'And you, the so-called genius, I bet you knew nothing of this place! Already I've proven myself to be more than you. More of an alchemist, more of a man –'

'I've been here before,' Ed said quietly, his voice slicing through the air. Something in the Gate resonated with his words and, even though its doors were closed, he could feel its gaze upon him. 'You're not the first, and you won't be the last to find out what it really means to be an alchemist. Haven't you wondered why nothing's happening yet? You made the array, you activated it, but the transmutation hasn't worked.'

'It worked!' Brown eyes narrowed at him, and Ed watched as the man changed direction, marching towards him. 'It will work!' he spat. 'Stupid know-it-all brat! What do I have to do? Is it something I have to say? Something I have to draw? It must be something – something I'm not seeing. It _will_ work.'

Even as his words echoed back and forth across the plane, Ed knew that something was listening. There had been a few moments, when he and Al had first activated the array to bring back their mother, when they had both stood whole and sure in this place, waiting for the next move. It had been unexpected then and, even though Ed knew what would happen, he still flinched when the doors swung open, revealing what lay beyond.

His body ached with the urge to clap, to throw all his strength into the array beneath him and tear it apart, curve by curve, until there was nothing left but dust. Yet he was helpless, pinned like a bug as the man who had put him here stepped forward, eyes wide and hands limp at his side as he took in visions only he could see.

Ed saw the sweat break out on the stranger's skin, saw the moment when desire became fear. He had expected to find something he could use and control, and instead there was this: wild and elemental, merciless and god-like. Any alchemist who ended up here, who looked upon it and realised the truth, could only hope they would make it out with their body and mind intact.

In the space of one heartbeat, it leapt, and Ed wished there was a way to close his ears to the man's screams. They were pained and rapturous, caught between torture and orgasm as the Gate wrapped its clutches around his body, pressing down through his skin and into the core of him. Ed didn't have the chance to watch as the design beneath him became iridescent, searing the air with its light and jabbing beams of heat, like newly forged spears, through his prone body.

Each one left fire in its wake, and he clenched his teeth as unbearable pain poured through his veins and sank into his bones, burning him up from the inside out. He knew this sensation, had felt bands of it wrap around his arm and leg before the Gate had taken them away. Even though they were years old, the memories still flared through his mind, bright and new.

A tight cry caught in his throat as his ports began to ache, and he gasped as he heard the sound of breaking metal. Nerves shrieked abuse, screaming through his flesh as his voice stayed mute, pressed into silence by the desperation of his mind. No words could make this better, so why speak? It would end, one way or the other. He just had to ride it out and hope there was enough of him left to crawl away at the end.

Something plunged into his chest, pressing through skin and ribs and living, beating flesh to something beneath it all, intangible but real all the same. Like a black hand, it curled around the warmth in him, crushing it in a dark, unrelenting grip. The touch choked him, making spots dapple across his vision as he struggled for breath. What was going on?

He tried to force himself away, to open his eyes and see what was happening, but there was no definition. Even the looming form of the Gate was gone, leaving him in a haze of ceaseless agony. Shadows splayed across his mouth, smothering him even as each gasp rattled in and out of his lungs. His pulse was a sickly beat in his ears, and Ed felt as if something, some essential part of him, was being obliterated with every passing moment.

Finally, it stopped. The pressure ceased, leaving what felt like a deep, yawning wound in his chest. Ed lifted his head, trying to look down, but there was nothing there except the smooth expanse of unmarked skin. There wasn't even a bruise, and yet it felt like something had been ripped away and decimated, leaving nothing but ruins.

The pain slammed through him, scorching its way through his body as dark coils swept over skin and automail. Metal buckled and twisted, falling apart with ear-rending wails, like a living thing being torn to pieces. Ed didn't know if he screamed or wept. All of his awareness was focussed on the agony that suffused him, shooting up long dead-nerves as wires unravelled and blood seeped from the port in his shoulder.

It was like that first time all over again, and something clamped around his knee, vice-like and terrifying as he tried to escape from it. Part of his mind was sure that Al was here somewhere, that he needed saving in case the Gate tried to take him again, but he could do nothing to tear himself free. His spine arched against the bar around his waist, shoulders digging into the floor and arms twisting at a strange angle.

The restraints disintegrated into dust, obliterated by the energy arcing all around him, yet he couldn't stand even if he had wanted to. His body was too racked by torment; his muscles refused to obey the desperate orders of his mind. Something grated beneath his skin, and searing heat suffused his right side. Shit, Winry knew nothing. Automail surgery was a walk in the park compared to this.

His chest heaved as the hot tang of blood filled his mouth, and he turned his head to the side, spitting bright red on the grey stone floor of the warehouse. It took him a moment to realise what he was seeing, and he blinked at the bobbing circles of light. The lamps in the ceiling still shook, swinging like pendulums in the aftermath of the transmutation. The array was dead and cold, and the alchemist sat at its edge, staring at his palms with wide, twitching eyes.

'Perfect!'

Ed didn't ask what he was talking about, he didn't care. Warm blood was turning his skin tacky, and he could barely think around the pain. Where his automail had been there was – there was –

He stared, trying to understand. This couldn't be right. He wiggled the fingers at the end of the arm – _his_ arm – turning his head to watch them move. It hurt with a stubborn, sulky kind of pain, but it felt disconnected, almost like it wasn't part of him. He had automail, not this thing – too light, too warm, too real – it felt more alien than heavy steel ever had. Shakily, Ed flexed his foot inside his boot, realising that he could feel the roughness of his sock against his skin. It was so strange it was almost shocking, and he clenched his teeth as pain followed hot on the heels of the sensation.

'I told you it would work!'

Ed blinked towards the man, his teeth chattering as he huddled in on himself. He felt sick and clammy, and the pulse that hammered in his ears sounded thready and uneven. Yet that wasn't the worst of it. More than the agony of over-sensitive nerves burning through his skin where there were once wires and steel plates, more than the spin and stumble of his bloodied head, there was one feeling that over-ruled all others.

At the heart of him, where there had once been something light and natural, as much a part of him as his heart and soul, was emptiness. There was nothing but a dank, rotten hole where there should have been something alive. He felt sick with its loss, torn up and broken in two by the sucking absence beneath his ribs.

Ed snarled, lips pulling back from bloodied teeth as he tried to stumble upright. He wanted to lunge at the man who sat a short distance away, to grab his neck and shake him until he gave back whatever he had stolen, but his leg wouldn't take his weight. He could do no more than lie there, panting and furious and hurting from head to toe as the alchemist reached for the watch, twirling it on his finger in a mocking, silver blur.

The stranger shut his eyes, taking a deep breath of the cold air and letting it out in a sigh. 'It's truly remarkable. I've never felt so alive!' He looked at Ed without a trace of apology, 'And I am certain you have never felt so dead. Your life is in ashes around you. The army will want nothing to do with you now; you're useless to them. Whereas I am something they cannot live without.' He grinned, slipping the watch into his pocket and moving closer

Ed scowled, running his tongue over his teeth as he pushed himself up on his arms, trying to ignore the shudder of his muscles. The Gate should have demanded its price, but the bastard seemed fine. More than fine, he was a threat, a predator, and Ed struggled against the urge to scramble away.

Instinctively, he slammed his palms together, ignoring the pain as arrays fluttered through his mind. Within the space of a heartbeat, he realised something was wrong. There was no warm buzz of power and no rising wave of energy. He was empty, drained of everything, and even as the design sparked to life in his mind, he knew it wouldn't become a reality.

'What the fuck did you do to me?' he snarled, staring beyond the steeple of his fingers as the man gave a mocking smile.

Before Ed could do so much as flinch, the alchemist clapped. It echoed around the warehouse like a gunshot as he slammed his palms into the ground. Blue light suffused the air, so familiar it made Ed's body ache. It hurled itself downwards, causing the stone to roil and crack. Debris flew in all directions, and Ed curled up in a ball, throwing his arms around his head to protect himself from the heavy rain of rock.

Something struck his back, and his breath left him in a rush as he slumped to the floor, gasping for air. He could hear footsteps getting closer, and a pair of boots stepped into his line of vision. The alchemist hunkered down next to him, the only steady thing in the waltzing room.

Ed's vision was edged with black: it was all too much. His body couldn't take the agony or understand the strange, hollow sense of loss, and he could feel his mind starting to shut down as he slipped deeper into the clutching shadows. Yet the man's whisper still reached his ears, his hot breath tickling Ed's skin as the words shaped the air, losing themselves in the rip-tide of unconsciousness.

'I stole your alchemy.'


	3. Chapter 3

Roy Mustang hunkered down in the shadow of one of the warehouses, his breath clouding in front of his face as he scanned the concrete yard. The place was desolate: the lamps were all blind, their broken glass scattered like crystal feathers on the ground, and the crouching leviathans of the buildings were slumped and unstable.

'He must be here somewhere! Why aren't we looking for him?' Al's frightened voice was no more than a hiss, and Roy looked over his shoulder at the younger Elric. He had staggered into the office less than an hour ago, his hair crusted with blood and his face the colour of paper. He hadn't needed to explain. In the space of a heartbeat, they all knew that something had happened to Ed.

'We can't rush in without a plan of action,' Roy pointed out, trying to edit his voice of everything except calm confidence. 'Are you sure you didn't see anything that might help us know what we're up against?'

Al shook his head, wincing in pain as he brushed a hand to the lump on the back of his skull. 'No, I told you. We were walking back from the library. Brother was in front of me. I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and got hit on the head. The next thing I knew, Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes was shaking me awake and Ed was gone!'

'His boots were sticking out of the alley. I wouldn't have seen him otherwise,' Maes added quietly. 'Whoever did this was in too much of a hurry to cover their tracks.'

'They were careless.' Roy frowned as another thought crossed his mind. 'Either that or they weren't even trying. Maybe they thought that, with Al out of the way, no one would come looking.'

With every passing second, Roy's concern grew. Ed was a vicious fighter and a brilliant alchemist. He would never go willingly with someone who had knocked out his brother, and was far more likely to attack than he was to go on the defensive.

Yet, if he had been able to lash out at his captor, there would have been signs of a struggle. Transmutations would have left scorch marks, and more things got broken than bones when Ed threw a punch, but the evidence told a different story.

Whoever it was had known the Elrics' habits and routine, and they had been waiting. Alphonse had been disposed of first, and it looked like Ed hadn't even had the chance to respond before he was struck. He probably didn't know what had hit him.

Roy rubbed his gloved hand over his face, trying to breathe around the heavy dread in his chest as he stared around at the warehouses. He was trying not to think too hard, not to let his emotions cloud his judgement, but it was almost impossible. Ed always made him feel everything to such extremes - took his masks in his mismatched hands and crushed them to smithereens - and this time was no different.

It took everything he had to control the frantic panic and concentrate on the reality, rather than the nightmarish portraits of his imagination. Al had led them back to the site of the attack, and training had taken over. There were plenty of clues, and it was Havoc who found the scuffs and spatters of blood in the frost.

They had followed the uncertain trail from that narrow alley to this place, but now there was nothing to guide them. Ed could be in any one of the huge, dilapidated sheds. For all Roy knew, he might not even be here at all, and his uncertainty was dragging at his shoulders, weighing him down with its burden.

'I think we're going to have to search them one by one,' Hughes whispered, shifting his weight and reaching for one of his push-knives. 'The process of elimination might take time, but it's better than skulking around and waiting for something to happen.'

Mutely, Roy nodded, flicking a meaningful glance towards Al. Maes knew him too well, and there was no need to vocalise his request. Havoc had looked at Al's head and said it wasn't as bad as it appeared, but Roy wasn't about to take any chances. Hughes would keep an eye on Alphonse, and Roy could concentrate on commanding the rest of his men.

'Breda, Falman – you two take the left side while Fuery and Havoc check those warehouses.' He gestured towards a pair of buildings at the far end of the site. 'We'll cover the rest.' He huffed out a breath, trying to ease the thrash of nervous butterflies in his stomach. 'Don't let your guard down, even for a moment. We still don't know how many people we're dealing with. I don't want to lose anyone because we got careless.'

He watched his men nod at the familiar warning, knowing that they were all too competent to make rookie mistakes, especially on a rescue mission. It was never admitted out loud, but they each felt a certain level of responsibility for Edward's safety.

Throughout those first years when, despite his protests, Ed really had been a child, Roy had sensed the others' discomfort when he was sent off on assignment alone. As a teenager, cocky and confidant, there had always been the suspicion that pride would be Ed's downfall, yet he hadn't succumbed. He proved to everyone time and again that he was as capable and strong as any of them, if not more so, but that didn't mean he was infallible.

Roy clenched his teeth, watching the others flit away like phantoms in the gloom before he began to move. The night was calm and quiet, but winter's mantle had spread itself over the city. Frost crackled underfoot as ice collected in slick sheets, waiting to trip the unwary. Cold air sank through flesh and seized in his joints, and Roy curled his fingers, flexing his knuckles before holding his hand poised and ready to snap.

It was tempting to run forward and start tearing the place apart, but Roy wasn't about to give away the element of surprise. It wasn't only his survival, nor that of his command, that could hinge on having the upper hand. If Ed was at the mercy of his captor, then there was no telling how much danger he was in. One split-second decision could tip the balance from joy to tragedy, and Roy would do anything in his power to prevent that.

'Did you hear something?' Al whispered, his head whipping around like a dog catching the scent as he looked across the yard. 'It sounded like a shout, but I – I don't know where it came from.' He twisted around, desperately looking for some sign of his brother. 'Maybe... .'

Bright light erupted through the air, cutting off Al's words as they all cringed away from the hoary glow. It stabbed up into the sky, blotting out the stars and the moon as it burned across the concrete. There was no mistaking the buzz of alchemy, and Roy's heart thudded against his ribs as the surge unwound all around him. It was a powerful transmutation, dense and focussed, and the frost glowed an eerie blue as the atmosphere crackled with energy.

He threw his arm across his eyes, trying to block out some of the glare as the road-maps of veins flickered over his vision. The roar rose up, starting as a tremor in the soles of his boots and climbing up to a crescendo that battered his ear drums and made his lungs shudder in his chest. Whatever was happening, it was raw and primal. The power danced over Roy like hot silk, fluttering against his face and sinking through into his blood, tempting him with its presence.

'No!'

Al's frantic cry rang out across the grounds, and Roy jerked himself from his reverie, lunging forward to snatch blindly at Al's coat. 'Don't!' he yelled over the din, forcing all of his authority into that word. 'If you run into the middle of it you could kill everyone involved, including your brother! That's not what you want!'

'You don't understand!' Al's words were tripping on the border of furious hysteria. 'I know this alchemy! I've felt it before! It's human transmutation!'

As if doused by his words, the light winked out, leaving them all stunned in its wake. Roy blinked, not waiting for the flickering spots to fade from his eyes as he stumbled forward. Al's cheeks were wet with tears, although whether it was from the alchemy's intensity or fear, Roy didn't know. Beneath his hand, he could feel the shuddering tension in the young man's body. He was gulping in lungfuls air, and every muscle was wound tight. He looked ready to bolt, and it was only Roy and Maes hanging onto his arms that stopped him sprinting towards the source of the glow.

'Alphonse, listen to me!' Roy rasped, trying to penetrate the young man's haze of terror. 'There are different kinds of human transmutation; you know that. It doesn't have to mean the worst! For all we know, Ed did it, not someone else! We don't even know if the person who has him is an alchemist!'

It was easy enough to say those words, but another matter entirely to believe them. Roy felt sick to his soul, shaken and horrified. Ed would never perform human transmutation, not again. The price he had paid for his childhood hope had been devastating, and he wouldn't forget that cost for as long as he lived.

Whatever had happened, Roy knew that Edward had been the victim. Part of him wanted to turn around and run, to never have to face what they might find, but that was impossible. He couldn't fail Ed like that. As a maimed little boy he had picked himself up and carried on, regardless of the fact that many older men would have admitted defeat. If there was any chance of making it through whatever had happened, then Ed would have the strength to succeed.

It was a thin ray of hope, but Roy clung to it as Fuery and Havoc came hurrying back, their lashes wet and their eyes bloodshot. 'It came from the one at the end on the right,' Jean gasped, cuffing furiously at his face. 'I couldn't see inside, couldn't see a damn thing, but I thought I heard someone's voice. Not Ed.'

Roy nodded, waiting for Breda and Falman to join them before blinking away the sting in his eyes and giving his orders. 'Surround the warehouse. Cover every exit and escape-route. Ed's our top priority, but if you get the chance to bring this bastard down, then do it.'

He didn't need to give them any more detail as he moved forward, every instinct alert for danger. Roy's faith in his men was absolute. They had never let him down before; they knew what they were doing, and they would work together like a well-oiled machine to complete their mission. No one would be satisfied until Ed was safe within their ranks once more, and failure was not an outcome anyone was willing to accept.

The rough fabric of his gloves stuck to his sweat-slicked palms as he picked his way over the ice, finding the balance between stealth and speed as he focussed on his target. The weak moon did nothing to light his way, but his other senses were thrilling with information.

Frost and alchemy tainted the air with their taste, and he could smell the distant wash of the river. The sounds of the city provided a backdrop to the uneven rhythm of his men's creeping footsteps, but he barely heard them. Instead he was focused on the growl of a man's voice, growing more intelligible with every step he took.

'Perfect! I told you it would work!'

Roy frowned, listening to everything that wasn't being said. The man's voice was triumphant, but he did not sound as if he was sharing his elation with a colleague. His words were absent and unfocussed, as if he were talking to himself, and Roy strained to hear anything that might suggest there was someone else within the warehouse's walls.

He wanted to barge in, to snap first and ask questions later, but he had learned the hard way, over the years, that one impetuous action could carry far too high a price. As much as he hated it, he had to wait for the rest of his men to get into position before he forced his way inside.

Al had stopped at Roy's right, each heavy breath stifled as he tried to make out what was happening inside the ramshackle building. If it had been the other way around, if it had been Al a prisoner and Ed trying to rescue him, there would have been no stopping the older Elric from tearing his way inside and beating the stranger to a bloody pulp, but Al's restraint didn't mean he cared for his brother any less. He had the sense to know, even in the midst of his fear, that patience had its uses.

A familiar sound made Roy flinch, and a flood of relief ran down his spine as he recognised the unmistakable noise of Ed clapping his hands. He waited for something to happen, but the world remained quiet. There was no flash of alchemy, no whirlwind of energy. There was nothing but silence.

'What the fuck did you do to me?'

There was no doubting Ed's voice, even wrecked with pain and hoarse, it was still brimming with the hard bite of his fury. Roy almost felt sorry for whoever else was in there. Did they even know what they were dealing with? Ed could probably rip them apart with his bare hands.

Except that, behind the anger, he could hear something else, an emotion that rarely seeped into Ed's voice. He was afraid, perhaps not of the other occupants in the warehouse, but something had slammed into the high walls of his strength and left him standing amidst nothing but rubble. Just because Ed was awake and talking, it didn't mean he had this situation under control.

Roy was about to ram the door when another clap punctuated the air, and this time the transmutation answered its call. The ground roiled beneath their feet, cracking concrete and shaking the shallow foundations of the warehouses. Wood cracked apart and corruGated metal crashed downwards as some of the weaker buildings gave up their fight against gravity. Roy struggled to keep his footing, spitting a curse as cracks began to form under his feet.

'What's Ed doing?' Hughes shouted, shielding himself from debris as the air trembled with fury. 'He's going to bring this whole place down if he's not careful!'

Al slammed his palms into the heaving yard, pouring himself into bleeding out some of the energy and letting the others concentrate on getting to Ed. Roy saw his eyes widen with shock, but he didn't have time to ask the younger Elric questions.

With one quick glance at Hughes, he made sure they were both on the same wavelength before he charged towards the door, squaring his shoulder as he braced for the impact. The concrete shuddered beneath his feet, falling silent as the alchemy drained away. Maes was keeping step, and they slammed into the warehouse together, sending rotted wood flying in all directions.

In the same moment, Roy snapped, sending a gout of flame whipping through the air. It was a distraction and warning all in one, giving him the chance to take in everything there was to see as the rest of his command made their presence known.

Ed lay in the middle of a far-flung array, its lines cold and dead around his prone body. Whether he was unconscious or dead, Roy didn't know, and panic thrashed through him as he tried to see any sign of life. He longed to run forward, to drop to his knees and scramble for a pulse, but he couldn't. Neutralise the threat, then pick up the pieces. That was the way things had to be. Besides, Ed wasn't alone.

A man was crouching at his side, head cocked to one side with child-like curiosity as a sneer spread across his thin lips. His dark eyes were locked on Roy, and there was no doubting the disgust and hate that lit his irises. Civilian clothes dressed his gaunt frame; he was slight, but that didn't mean he was weak.

'Put your hands where I can see them,' Hawkeye ordered, her aim faultless as she stood with her feet apart, ready to fire. If she pulled the trigger, the man's life would be wiped out in an instant: one clean shot between the eyes and there would be nothing left. 'Step away from Major Elric.'

The sneer widened into a grin, and the back of Roy's neck prickled with distrust. There was something unhealthy about the man's expression, and every movement was quick and edgy. He'd seen men like this before, back in the war, when somewhere amidst the violence and the blood, something in their brain lost its grip. The gleam in his eyes was too manic, and the twitch of his mouth didn't seem quite right.

Warning bells were shrilling in Roy's head, but logic muffled their call. The man was unarmed; he didn't even have a gun. He couldn't run faster than a bullet and, with every stumbling, tripping step back from Ed's side that he took, he was robbing himself of a hostage. He was helpless.

So why was he still smiling?

It happened too quickly. The hands he was lifting above his head came together, and the energy rolled outwards like a thunderclap. Bright blue light, familiar and alien all at once, wreathed his nicotine-stained fingers as the alchemy scribbled outwards, making the walls shake and creak. Chunks of the metal roof, rusted to nothing, began to fall down, filling Roy's ears with sharp cracks and crashes.

Hawkeye's gunshot was lost in the din, as was the bullet. The metal disintegrated to dust within the shock wave as a new array blazed to life on the floor, obliterating the lines around Ed's body and burning their way into the rock. People were shouting orders and warnings, dodging debris as they tried to get a clear shot, and Roy snapped his fingers, pouring all of his frustration into the banner of flame.

It lunged towards the alchemist, gleaming off of the silver chain of the pocket watch and reflecting in his wild eyes. It made the sweat on his face shine, but it never kissed his skin with its burning touch. Instead it faltered, stuttering and dimming as the quality of the air changed. Roy knew what was about to happen, and his snarl of anger was wordless as the fire flashed back, following the stranger's whims as it answered to his greater control.

Roy hurled himself to the floor, knowing it wouldn't be enough to save him, but hoping all the same. The cracked concrete reared up, flowing like water as it reached for the ceiling, and he lifted his head to see Al on his knees, eyes shut in concentration as he blocked the screaming lance of heat from finding its target. He was shaking from the effort, head bent in something like prayer as he fought off the new alchemist's attacks.

It was the perfect distraction, and Roy rolled to the side, raising his hand to snap as Hawkeye picked up her gun and pulled the trigger. This time the bullet struck, pushing the man backwards with its force as it slammed into his shoulder. It broke his focus, and those glazed eyes widened with angry fear as he staggered away, leaving the alchemy roaring and raging in his wake as he bolted towards a gaping hole in the wall.

Havoc and Hawkeye both gave chase, moving with practised speed as they dodged around the debris and out into the night. Roy wished he could believe they'd catch him, but he doubted it would be so easy. They had underestimated their target, and this was the result.

Grimly, he staggered to his feet, feeling bruised in both body and pride, but he pushed it aside as he snapped out orders. 'Breda, Falman, follow the lietenants. Don't let him get away.' He looked at Ed, and his heart clenched with fear as he tried to shape his next words. 'Fuery, get a car. We're going to need to get Fullmetal to hospital.'

Al had scrambled to his brother's side, and Roy didn't pause as he made his way closer, trying to read Alphonse's expression. Two fingers were pressed hard to the pulse-point in Ed's neck, but his face was blank with shock. The sight opened a hole in Roy's stomach, and he reached out, curving his fingers tight around Al's shoulder as he asked, 'What –?'

The young man jolted in surprise, looking at Roy as if he'd never seen him before before turning back to his brother. 'He's alive, but –'

'But?' Roy followed gaze, trying to see what he had noticed. Ed lay on his right side, bare-chested and motionless. Black ink looped across his skin: parts of the array, Roy realised. He'd been an integral part of the whole design, but what had it done?

There was a bloody gash in his head, deep and bruised, and more than one purple stain marked his body. His hair was coming loose and was clogged with blood from the wound on his temple, trailing rusty gold over his shoulders.

Surprise jerked through Roy's body, racing along every nerve as if he'd touched a live wire. Both of Ed's arms were made from honeyed flesh, although the right one was slicked with a veneer of blood that smudged from his shoulder to his fingertips. There were no overlapping plates or wires, no hinges or bolts. Even the scars were gone, wiped clean as if they had never bitten into his body in the first place.

He was staring like an idiot, Roy realised, stunned into silence by his confusion as he tried to adjust his mind to this new reality. Questions bowled through his mind, cocooned in shifting, switching emotions that he couldn't even begin to name. All the while his voice was trapped, imprisoned by his shock.

Belatedly, he noticed that every breath Ed drew in was a shallow shudder, unhealthy and weak. Grabbing the lapels of his coat, Roy ripped it off and crouched at Ed's side, almost afraid to touch him. There would be time for questions and answers later. For now, they had to make sure Ed made it through the night. 'We need to roll him onto his back. Something's not right.'

'I don't know if it's okay to move him.' Al replied, his voice sounding distant with lingering disbelief. 'His head looks bad. What if he's broken something?'

'Sooner or later, we're going to have to carry him out of here,' Roy pointed out. 'If he's on his back then we can both check him over.'

Finally, Al nodded in agreement, reaching out to help support his brother's limp frame. Licking his lips, Roy cupped the back of Ed's skull in one hand and his right shoulder in the other before easing him, inch by inch, onto his back. There was some blood, but Roy couldn't see any injuries except the one on his head, which had clotted in the cold. Without a second thought he spread his coat out over Ed's frame, tucking it around his body as he tried to keep some of the precious warmth next to his bare skin.

Al was sitting back on his heels in a daze, his eyes unfocussed and his lips parted in confusion. 'I don't understand,' he said, digging his fingers into his hair. 'What happened? How did – how did brother get his arm and leg back? He can't have done this to himself. He – he always promised he would never try anything this stupid again. He said he didn't mind the automail.'

Roy watched Al reach for Ed's left leg, pushing up the black leather and staring at the warm limb as if he couldn't comprehend it. Yet there was no doubt about it. Both Ed's arm and leg were intact and flawless. They weren't wasted or withered, but as muscled and strong as the rest of his body. Fine gold hairs traced their way across his skin; there was even the occasional freckle and an old scar on his right arm.

More importantly, there was a pulse thudding in his wrist, a little too fast and frail, but it was a beat that Roy clung to like a life-line. He counted each thrum, lips twisted in uncertainty before he glanced up at Al. 'I know your classes only started last week, but do you know anything about shock?'

His gentle question had the same effect as a slap in the face. All of Al's focus snapped into place, and his bright eyes lost their glassy look as he examined his brother's form. Both Elrics were stunningly intelligent, but whereas Ed applied his genius to alchemy, Al had decided there was more to life than that. He wanted to be a doctor, and Roy had a sneaking suspicion that, like everything else, it was for Ed's benefit.

'We're still covering basic anatomy, but I read ahead,' Al said without a trace of arrogance or pride. 'It happens when the body loses a lot of blood: weak pulse, poor temperature control... .' He checked his brother over, concentrating on the job in hand as Roy looked on. 'It can be very dangerous, but I don't understand why brother would be affected. There's not that much blood here.' Al looked at the floor, shaking his head and making a tight sound of worried frustration. 'I don't know enough to help him, yet. We really need to get him to a doctor.'

'There could be a problem with that.' Hughes' soft voice made them both look up, and Roy saw that his friend stood over them, on guard and ready to protect them if necessary. 'Any professional medical body is going to have Ed's history. There's no way they're going to overlook the fact that he's recovered two limbs.' His smile was weak, but genuine. 'We know Ed well enough to take the unexpected in our stride, at least to some extent, but the average doctor will ask a lot of difficult questions. I don't think we're going to want this to be public knowledge.'

Roy closed his eyes, grating his teeth together in frustration. Maes was right. They didn't know enough about what had happened to start constructing a plausible excuse for Ed's recovery, and they wouldn't be able to keep it hidden from anyone treating Ed's injuries. If news of this got back to the military, they wouldn't hesitate to act. They would either arrest Ed for his role in human transmutation, or they would lock him up in a lab for further investigation. Whichever they chose, there was a good chance that none of them would ever see Ed again.

'It's not going to matter who does or doesn't know if he never wakes up,' Al retorted, wrapping Ed's left hand in his as he kept the fingers of his other hand steady on his brother's pulse.

A sound from outside made Roy look towards the door, and Hughes peered around the threshold before turning back with a grimace. 'It's Fuery with a car, but he's got company. Military and civilian police as well as General Heath and his men. I guess most of Central saw that light.'

Roy cursed, making sure that Ed was covered from chin to toe by the coat before he spoke in hurried words. 'Al, you and Fuery get him to the office. There's a doctor I know by the name of Wallis. He owes me a favour. Fuery will know how to contact him. All you have to do is mention my name, and he can come and check Ed over. I'll deal with this.' He straightened up, adding in a murmur. 'Don't let anyone you don't trust see Ed's arm and leg. Hughes?'

Maes nodded in answer to Roy's unspoken request, holstering his gun as he spoke. 'I'll go with you, Al. My rank could come in useful if people start asking questions.' He moved closer as Al bent to slip his hands under his brother's back. 'Do you need a hand carrying him?'

Roy watched Al brace his knees, wincing as he stumbled in surprise. Of course, Ed was probably almost twenty pounds lighter without the automail, and Al hadn't expected it to be so easy. He hid his shock well, shaking his head at Hughes and giving a polite nod as General Heath marched into the building.

'Sir.' Roy saluted, standing to attention as the general waved Hughes and Al past, ordering his aides to give them a hand. Heath wasn't bad, as far as commanding officers went, but Roy wished that the general had chosen to stay at home and wait for a report. On a page in black and white, it was easier to distract the mind's attention from the real issues. Now, Heath could see for himself what had happened here. He might not be an alchemist, but he wasn't an idiot, either.

'One of your men, Mustang?' Heath asked. His voice was clear of any emotion, but his dark eyes held an element of genuine concern.

'Yes, sir. The Fullmetal Alchemist. He was attacked earlier this evening and brought here by an unknown assailant. We're chasing down his attacker now.' As he said it, he saw Hawkeye and Havoc lingering in the doorway. Their faces were streaked with sweat, despite the chill, and Havoc was cradling a burnt hand, his eyes tight with pain as the red skin blistered.

Heath followed his gaze, waving aside their hasty salutes as he motioned them over. 'See Jones,' he said to Havoc, pointing to a young, brunette woman who was standing to attention near the door. 'She's a damn good medic, and that looks like it needs quick treatment. Do what she tells you; she has a bit of a temper.'

Roy allowed a modicum of gratitude to show in his eyes at the general's thoughtfulness. Most high-ranking officers would have let Jean suffer until they had their report. However, Roy wasn't about to tell him the whole truth. Heath might see his soldiers as more than cannon-fodder, but that didn't mean he could be trusted.

'Report, lieutenant,' he ordered Hawkeye, meeting her brown eyes with a hint of warning in his gaze. She had been under his command for too long to miss his meaning: she would know to choose her words with care.

Riza stood to attention, her chin lifted and her voice steady as she began to speak. 'We chased the alchemist across the complex, sir, and down into the alleyways. Unfortunately, he knew his way around them better than we did, and his transmutations hampered our pursuit.' Her lips tightened a fraction; the sole sign of her frustration. 'He used several different types of alchemy to try and get away, and he clapped to activate the transmutations.'

Heath made a surprised sound. 'I thought that was unusual?' he said to Roy. 'That they had to be drawn? As far as I am aware, Fullmetal is the only state alchemist with that ability.'

'He and his brother are the only two people I know of who can transmute in that manner without tattoos on their hands or gloves,' Roy conceded. It was almost true, and he was not about to bother General Heath with irrelevancies about their teacher, Izumi. 'Unfortunately, I didn't get a good look at the attacker's hands.'

'There were no circles on his skin, sir,' Hawkeye replied, her throat convulsing as she swallowed. 'I saw that myself. Every time we fired a shot he was able to deflect it or destroy the bullet. We lost him when he jumped into the river.' Her pretty brow was creased with a frown, and she inclined her head in faint apology. 'I wish I could believe that he drowned, sir, but I think that's unlikely. I've left Breda and Falman at the river bank, searching for anything might help us, but I felt I should return and give my report.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant,' he said quietly. 'Please go back to the river and continue the search. Take the military police with you, with the general's permission of course.' He waited for Heath's nod before he added. 'They'll have dogs available; they might be able to pick up his scent wherever he emerged. I'll return to headquarters and instruct the Intelligence division to watch the trains in case the perpetrator tries to leave the city.'

Hawkeye nodded, sparing the briefest of worried glances for the empty array before she turned to complete her orders, leaving Roy standing to attention at General Heath's side.

'You think they'll find anything?' the older man asked.

'I'm not sure, sir,' Roy replied. 'I would like to believe that this was an unprovoked, amateur attack, but I have my doubts. The man in question had a state alchemist's watch; I doubt it's genuine, but it could open a lot of doors for him before we can get the word out.'

Heath gave a grunt of agreement, scratching at his greying beard before he looked at the floor. The design which had cradled Ed in its grasp had been shattered apart by the cracks in the ground and chipped by falling debris. Many of the larger elements were unrecognisable, and Roy was torn between gratitude and despair. At least, now, its dark purpose wasn't obvious to any alchemist who glanced at it. However, it also meant the knowledge it could give them was lost.

'Mustang, I don't need to tell you how serious this situation could be. Fuhrer Hakuro has always listened to his advisers, and the murmurs about state alchemists are growing louder by the day.' Heath rubbed his nose. 'General Clarke, in particular, has been very vocal. He questions whether state alchemists can be trusted, whether they have outlived their usefulness... . The last thing we need is an out of control alchemist running amok in the city. I'm trusting you to bring this under quick control.'

'There have been whispers of anti-alchemy laws in parliament for decades, sir,' Roy pointed out. 'They've never come to anything.'

'Because of the military.' Heath's expression was almost apologetic. 'Alchemists are valuable to the army, as inventors, researchers – '

'Weapons.' Roy didn't look away from the general as he said it, watching the man's faint smile of acknowledgement.

'They won't turn their back on the power alchemists have to offer in any hurry, but Clarke will leap upon any opportunity to push his point home. Don't let him use this incident as ammunition.' He watched Roy salute his confirmation. 'Keep me updated, Brigadier-General. Dismissed.'

Roy turned away, teeth clenched as his mind raced. Distrust of alchemists was nothing new; it had been going on for centuries, yet he couldn't deny that tension had been rising recently. There had been too many bad choices, too many criminals let loose under Bradley's reign, and now all the good that alchemists did was overlooked in favour of whispered nightmares and experiments gone wrong.

He swallowed at that last thought, taking a deep breath as he stepped back outside, finally letting himself succumb to the waves of receding adrenaline. He didn't know what he had expected to find within that circle, but he knew too well how horrific human transmutation could be. There were so many different ways it could fail, and he didn't know what he had feared more: that Ed would be killed, or that he would be left alive to suffer the sick touch of whatever alchemy had washed through the air.

Looking towards the nearby gleam of the command tower, Roy began to walk, keeping his pace brisk and business-like as he gave out orders, shutting down the site and restricting access to his rank or higher. He'd be back before dawn, but he needed to know more about what had occurred. Two people had witnessed what had happened from beginning to end. One was running from his men, and the other was unconscious in his office, weak and battered.

All he could do was hope that Ed would wake up and give him the answers he needed. Roy didn't pretend to understand the Gate, but he had learnt enough to know that it never gave anything away for free. Ed had emerged from that storm of light with his arm and leg intact, but one question kept crashing through Roy's mind time and again.

What had he paid in return?


	4. Chapter 4

_'It won't hurt.'_

Ed gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into helpless fists as the blood spilled down his sides. His chest was sliced open, ribs parted as the dark, ribbon-like hands of the Gate drifted into the hole, plucking through veins and squealing nerves to something else. It burned through him: quick, sharp agony that left nothing but smoke in its wake. Something was wrong, so wrong and he couldn't even find his voice to scream.

Part of him knew this was a dream. As always, the other shades of his subconscious hovered on the periphery of his vision, daubing their gory pictures and filling the air with the smell of tin, but they were distant in comparison to this.

Something cracked, bone on bone and ivory smooth in the softness of his flesh, twisting and biting until it found what it was looking for. In the cavern of his aching head, Ed heard the dull boom of the Gate swinging closed, shutting him out forever.

There was a silhouette standing over him. Its face was hidden, but he could smell the perfume of cigarettes and see the yellow tinge to the outstretched fingers as they reached down and in. The flat palm became a fist, and Ed choked as his heart thrummed against the alien presence in its space. He could feel something tugging, pulling at things that were never meant to be touched. Part of him thought it was some kind of surgery for the automail, but this was nothing as concrete and tangible as wires and bolts.

Finally, when he thought his pulse couldn't race any faster and his next breath would be his last, the hand withdrew. It should have been covered in blood, dripping with it, but all Ed could see was the light. It was sodium-edged blue, flaring out through the gaps between those long, penetrating fingers. The glow stabbed at the air all around, chasing away the darkness as it pulsed in time with a rhythm of life that had nothing do with Ed.

_'Mine.'_

No! No, he couldn't let that be taken from him! Didn't they know? Didn't they understand? He thrashed against the insubstantial ground, fighting against unmoving bonds as the shadow turned and began to walk away, taking the sapphire star with him and leaving Ed alone in the darkness, panting and wretched, dead but alive all the same... .

'Mr Elric, can you hear me?'

The voice sounded solid, a tether-like presence in the vaporous, hollow world of Ed's dream, and he reached out for it like a life-line. He dragged his eyes open, narrowing them again almost instantly as the world assailed him. His vision was blanked out by white, and his mouth tasted vile. Every inch of his skin felt clammy and slick; then there was the pain. It waited, giving him a split-second of bliss before searing up both sides of his body and tightening his spine with its rage.

A groan clawed its way from his throat, and he winced as his sight returned, revealing a man in his late-fifties bending over him in thought. A little torch was gripped in his hand, and Ed realised he must have been shining it in his eyes. Bastard doctors; they only ever made things worse. He didn't have a clue why Al wanted to be one.

Al!

Ed jerked upright, ignoring the wail of every muscle at the movement. A hand on his left shoulder barely held him down, despite its strength, and Al's firm, frightened voice made him turn his head. 'Brother, no! You have to stay lying down. You're hurt, and the doctor can't help you if you don't stay still.'

He almost swore; a spat curse against doctors in general and this one in particular, but the look on Al's face told him it wouldn't do him any good. Besides, as weak and pained and furious as he was, he couldn't hold back the faint swim of relief. Ed knew he could stand up if he wanted to, could bully his bitching, spasming body to cooperate if necessary, but he'd pay for it later, and he wasn't quite sure he could afford the inevitable price of his stubbornness.

Wincing, he clenched his right hand, feeling pins and needles stab at his shoulder as his mind fumbled to comprehend the fullness of what had happened to him: the man, the Gate, the dying screams of the automail and then this – his real limbs restored as if they'd never been gone.

Ed frowned, trying to ignore the jabbing, searing pain that unravelled through him. They were too sensitive; every inch of new skin was buzzing with the flutter of air and the rasp of the thick, military coat that was bunched around his body. His arm felt too light and difficult to control. Ed had grown more used to the drag of the automail than he'd ever believed possible, and part of him was deeply suspicious that this was still a dream.

In honesty, it had been years since he'd thought about having his real arm and leg again. After getting Al back, it simply hadn't been worth the risk. Now, they were there, flesh and blood and real, and in exchange... .

_“I stole your alchemy.”_

He jerked his gaze back up to Al's face, eyes wide and lips parted, but Al's palm over his mouth stopped him before he could utter a word, and he shook his head meaningfully before holding up a bit of paper. A couple of quick sentences were scribbled on it, and Ed frowned as he tried to focus on the letters.

_“Don't talk about your arm and leg. Mr. Hughes says the office might be bugged.”_

Ed's gaze flickered over Al's shoulder, taking in the room for the first time. The air didn't smell of antiseptic, but of paper and clean smoke, and there were no harsh, clinical lights. Someone had lit a fire in the grate; it added mellow colours to the haze of soft lamplight. The walls were lined with books, and Ed knew that if he looked over the back of the sofa he'd see Mustang's massive desk. He'd been brought back to the office, rather than a hospital, but why? Somehow he doubted Roy would bother with this just to spare him from his hatred of medical institutions.

Hughes and Fuery were sweeping over the walls with their hands, probing behind pictures and fanning out the curtains as they searched. Maes glanced over his shoulder, smiling to see that Ed's eyes were open, but his face was lined with tension. Whatever was going on, it had people worried, and where the hell was Mustang?

Ed frowned in confusion, his head too thick to think. Strategy had never been his thing and, right now, his skull was throbbing too hard and fast to sort out the cluttered mess of facts. Finally, he gave a nod of understanding, waiting for Al to withdraw his hand before he muttered, 'You hurt? Last thing I saw was you lying on the ground. How's your head? Did anything happen to you while I was gone?'

'I'm better than you.' Al's reply was blunt, but his eyes softened as he sat down on the floor next to Ed's head, keeping out of the doctor's way. 'I'll be okay, Brother. You're the one we've been worried about. Havoc and the doctor both took a look at me and said I was fine.'

Ed grunted doubtfully. Havoc was a field medic. His training consisted of patching up bleeds and dragging people back to someone more qualified. As for this doctor – Ed shot him a dubious glare – he could be any random quack. He definitely wasn't good enough to be looking after Al. He needed to be in a hospital, getting x-rays and stuff. Ed hadn't gone to all the effort to get Al's body back from the Gate just to have him keel over because of a knock on the head.

He raised his hand to scratch at his temple, baring his teeth in a snarl as the doctor batted his fingers away. 'Leave those stitches alone, Major. I didn't sew you back together so that you could pick yourself apart again.' His expression told Ed that he was not the kind of man who was going to take any trouble from his patients, and Al's fingers around Ed's wrist backed up his words.

'Doctor Wallis knows that you hurt more than your head,' Al whispered pointedly. 'You need to let him help you. Please don't be difficult, brother.'

Ed scowled, but he couldn't find the strength to muster a retort. Instead he watched Wallis rummage in a bag and produce a stethoscope. When the man spoke again, it was obvious he was choosing his words to be as ambiguous as possible. 'I just need to check some reflexes and have a quick listen. Answer my questions yes or no.'

He took Ed's right arm in his warm, calloused hand, pressing gently along the musculature before touching his stethoscope to the pulse in Ed's wrist. The sensation of cool metal shot up Ed's arm like a shock, and he almost yanked his hand away before gritting his teeth and trying to bear it as best he could.

'Does it hurt?'

'Yes,' Ed hissed, shutting his eyes as his head spun. Al's grip on Ed's left wrist tightened, but he could hardly feel it over the wails of the nerves in his right arm and shoulder. Eventually, the doctor moved, murmuring an apology as his touch became more forceful, checking the bones and the flexibility of the joints, counting out ribs and nodding to each of Ed's responses.

He checked his leg in the same way, stripping off the boot and sock to perform his little tests. Finally, he made a quiet, satisfied noise, returning to Al's side and talking in little more than a whisper. 'Both limbs are getting an adequate supply of blood and have a full range of motility. While I don't know the details of what happened, I can guess that the pain is a simple matter of over-stimulation. Your brain will adapt to filter out the extraneous nerve signals over the next few days.'

'What about his head?' Al asked. 'Is it all right?'

Wallis sighed, raising his voice to address them both. 'At the moment, neither of you are exhibiting signs of a complicated head injury. However, your brother is probably concussed and you should both be kept under observation. If you start to bleed or leak clear fluid from your nose, eyes or ears, or you lose conciousness, you need to go straight to hospital.'

He reached into his supplies, pulling out a clear bag and a bit of piping, as well as a sterile needle. With a quick glance around the room, the doctor spied a coat rack and began clearing the hanging garments off of it before carrying it over to the couch.

Ed eyed him warily, his stomach sinking as he realised that it probably wasn't going to be Al who was used as a pin-cushion. 'What's that for?'

Wallis glanced up at him as he worked before speaking in calm, clear tones. 'You're exhibiting some of the classic symptoms of a sudden reduction in blood volume: chills, palpitations, that kind of thing. This will help restore the amount of fluid in your veins and lessen the severity. Leave it in until the bag has drained, then you can pull it out.'

Before Ed could so much as flinch there was a tourniquet looped around his arm, and the doctor tightened it in one swift move as Ed found his voice. 'There's no fucking way I'm letting you stick that in me,' he snapped, renewing his struggles to get up. His head whirled in a furious warning, and before he could work out whether to pass out or throw up, the needle had slipped in under his skin and was taped in place.

'Unfortunately, I have to follow your commanding officer's orders in this case.' The doctor gave a tired smile. 'Brigadier-General Mustang has always made it very clear that, should I ever be called to treat you, I should ignore all of your attempts to decline my assistance.' Reaching into his bag he took out a small cylinder, rattling the pills thoughtfully before putting them on the table. 'Get some rest, both of you.' He looked at Al. 'You'll need to be woken up every hour for the next twelve hours or so, but even broken sleep will do you good. Major, those tablets are for you. They'll help to control any excessive pain.'

He stood up, brushing off his clothes before picking up his bag and addressing Hughes. 'If either of them begin to deteriorate, then you know how to contact me. I would rather see them both in hospital, but I doubt that the Brigadier-General would have asked for my help if that were possible. Tell him he'll be receiving my bill within the next few days.'

'Thank you, doctor.' Hughes' words were kind enough, but Ed didn't miss the blandness of the older man's tone. Normally, his voice was a mirror for his emotions, and Ed would bet anything that Maes had a lot on his mind.

Hughes showed the physician out before reaching for a jug of water on the coffee table and pouring a glass. He dropped a handful of tiny devices into the liquid, grimacing as they sparked and died. 'Bugs,' he whispered by way of explanation. 'Roy's getting too powerful for his peers to ignore.'

'Won't whoever planted those know you destroyed them?' Al asked quietly, staring at the wrecked gadgets. 'Won't they think it's suspicious?'

Hughes smiled at him, pressing a finger to his lips and producing a small box from his pocket, as well as a little microphone. It had a dial a bit like a speedometer and, when he switched it on, the needle began to twitch. 'They might,' he said quietly, 'but listening devices being found and disposed of in security checks is expected. We deliberately left a few of the less sensitive ones in place. The chances are that they won't think anything's amiss.'

The door opened, making the needle twitch higher on the dial before sinking back down. It was measuring sound, Ed realised as he watched it dance with the approach of a set of footsteps. Every little crackle of the fire and whisper of fabric registered on the scale and, when Mustang dropped a stack of files on the tabletop, a red light on top of the box flickered madly.

'You're done?' he murmured, smiling as Hughes grinned.

'Of course. You should be able to control precisely what prying ears hear. As long as your voice doesn't make the light go off, then the bugs won't pick up what you're saying. However, that's only true in this spot.' Maes pointed at the floor meaningfully. 'If you're at your desk or somewhere else, then I can't guarantee it. Did you catch the alchemist?'

Ed watched Mustang shake his head, seeing his normally calm expression darken with anger. 'The others have their orders to keep looking, but he jumped in the river. Somehow I doubt he did us all a favour by drowning. If he has any sense he'll go to ground.' Roy perched on the arm of one of the chairs, graceful and easy despite everything, and his eyes softened a fraction, tinted with an edge of apology as he met Ed's bleary gaze. 'How are you feeling?'

The word “fine” almost slipped past his lips, but it died on his tongue before it found voice. The headache, the nausea, the aches and pains, all that was something he could live with. He'd dealt with worse over the years, but the thing that hurt the most was what couldn't be seen. The doctor wouldn't have had anything in his bag to help, and Ed doubted it would heal over time.

'Brother?'

'Fuckin' sore,' Ed said, noticing the light on top of the box flash in response to the force of his words before he lowered his voice. 'I still don't know what that bastard did to me, not really, but the array made a mess of something.' He glanced at his right arm, absently clenching his hand into the fist and feeling the shift of every tendon and bone. 'We ended up at the Gate. I got my arm and leg back, but I can't do alchemy any more.'

Silence followed his statement, defined only by the soft, natural sounds of Roy's office as his words sent shockwaves rippling through the room. He could feel the others' confusion, could almost sense their exchanges glances and disbelief, but he couldn't bring himself to lift his head and face their doubt.

'What?' Roy asked, the leather upholstery of the chair creaking as he leaned forward on his perch. 'What do you mean?'

The intensity of his question was enough to make Ed meet his eyes, holding his gaze as his insides thrashed and tightened uncomfortably. He knew it sounded unbelievable, like something based on fiction rather than fact, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. The easiest way to prove what he meant would be to show them.

Ed took a deep breath, wincing as he struggled into a sitting position. His head thudded at him and the intravenous line tugged at the crook of his left arm, but he pushed the discomfort aside as he pressed his palms together: not a clap but the briefest brush of skin and skin. Sharp, desperate hope flared and died in his chest as the familiar spark and rise of energy he always felt during a transmutation failed to ignite. There was nothing: no light in the dark, no life in the shadows.

Wearily, Ed cupped his hands around the glass of water, knowing that nothing would happen. The liquid inside it didn't change state, neither freezing nor turning to steam. Once, he'd had the strength to make alchemy do the most breath-taking things, now he couldn't even do a simple transmutation. 'See?' he murmured, pulling his hands back. 'He did something to me, and now it doesn't work.'

Seconds passed, marked out only by the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the crackle of the fire. Ed didn't dare look up at anyone. He felt humiliated and beaten. Worse, he could feel the breathless pity pouring off of Roy and Alphonse, as well as the waves of uncertainty coming from Hughes and Fuery.

Suddenly, Al got up, striding over to Mustang's desk and snatching a pen and piece of paper. He scribbled something on the blank canvas and came back, automatically showing it to his brother. It was instinctive to check over the array for mistakes or flaws. They'd always done it for each other, and this time was no different. The spark and fizz of Ed's mind was as strong as ever, picking out the design's energy flow, already tweaking and moulding the layout to improve efficiency.

'Maybe it's the clapping that's not working,' Al suggested, slipping the paper underneath the glass. 'Go back to basics. I'm sure you'll be able to activate it this way.'

'Al -'

'Try, brother.'

It was an order with more authority than the military could ever hope to hold, and Ed held Alphonse's gaze for a moment before turning to focus his attention on the array. It used to be so easy. Once it had taken less than a heartbeat to go from the design in his head to the transmutation in progress, but now he forced himself to slow down, remembering every little step from his childhood. He'd learned to transmute before he could read or write: it was second nature, or it had been.

Carefully, he pressed his fingertips to the periphery of the circle, but the ink remained dead and cold. He could feel the vacuous touch of the lines against his skin, could sense the draw of it reaching towards a source of energy that no longer existed, but that was all. Where there had once been heat and the vivid, beautiful swirl of power there was nothing more than the rush of blood in his veins and the warmth of his body.

The water remained calm and still, untouched by his efforts, and Ed sank back into the sofa cushions, picking at the coat that had pooled in his lap. 'Like I said, it doesn't work.'

He wanted to shout it, to lash out like a wounded animal, but all his years as a dog of the military under Mustang's command had taught him something about discretion. Besides, most of him didn't believe his own words. A massive part of his mind was frantically conjuring up excuses and theories, trying to explain away what had happened as temporary, insignificant – _curable_. Every breath was a little ragged, and the pain in his head intensified as his blood seethed with anger and doubt. 'The fucking git said he stole it.'

Hughes made a rough sound of puzzlement, glancing up at Roy before looking back at Ed. 'I thought -' he paused, remembering to keep his voice low. 'I don't get it. How can someone steal you ability to transmute? I thought it was a talent like, I don't know, being able to sing.'

'People don't fully understand why some have alchemical ability and others don't,' Roy said quietly, crossing his arms and frowning in thought. 'I've never heard of anything like this before. It's -'

'Repulsive,' Al whispered, his face twisted with something like horror. 'Why would anyone do that to another person?'

Ed shrugged, unable to answer his brother's question even as he shared his sentiment. The concept of stealing another person's alchemical ability had never crossed his mind and, even if it had, he would never have considered it an option: it was too personal and intimate, as much a violation as anything the Gate had done to him. Yet obviously some people had no qualms about crossing that line to get what they wanted.

Mustang ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles before he scratched at his chin. Ed found himself watching the flicker of emotions on the older man's face, fascinated by their dance even if he couldn't find the right labels for what he was seeing. Doubt, confusion, fear, pity – they flashed by too fast for Ed to grasp. It was a tempest of feeling but, before he could so much as blink, Roy's mask was firmly back in place, and calm, unwavering logic was the only thing Ed could see in those dark eyes.

'What can you tell me about the man who did this to you?' Roy asked. 'We all saw what he looked like, but you're the only one who really spoke to him. Did you find out anything that could help us track him down?'

Ed shut his eyes, trying to remember the alchemist's words. His memory was treacherous, patchy in places where there should have been clear pictures, and his emotional record was pocked by the overwhelming panic the Gate had brought to life. Yet he could remember enough, and the tension in Ed's body twisted tighter as the man's disjointed diatribe washed over him once more.

'I thought he looked kind of familiar, like I've seen him somewhere before, but I don't know where. He took my watch, said that... .' Ed hesitated, glancing at his little brother. There was no way he was going to repeat the accusations the alchemist had made about how he got his commission in front of Al. 'Just said I didn't deserve it and took it for himself. He kind of acted like he thought it was his, like he wanted to be a State Alchemist. Fuck knows why.'

'For some people, it's an accolade rather than a burden,' Roy replied, and Ed looked up sharply, wondering if he'd imagined the bitter, knowing edge to Mustang's words, like he was more inclined to agree with Ed's view of the role than someone else's ideals. 'Maes, has Intelligence picked up any threats against Fullmetal? Whoever did this could have given us some warning that we didn't recognise. It might lead us right to him, or at least give us a name.'

Hughes was already straightening up, brushing off his uniform pants before he adjusted his glasses. 'Nothing's been brought to my attention, but only high-risk issues are flagged. My men filter out and investigate the rest as necessary. I'll go back to the office and look over the files; it's possible we might find our alchemist among them.'

'What threats?' Ed growled. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me before?'

'Would it have helped?' Roy asked quietly, shaking his head before Ed replied. 'We receive more than a dozen threats a week against people in this office alone. You and I are two of the best known alchemists in the military. That makes us natural recipients of hate-mail, but most of them are nothing more than cloistered individuals looking for a target for their anger. If anything had been considered a serious risk, you would have been told.'

'Yet I'm still sitting here with stitches in my head and no fucking alch – ' Ed's angry words were stifled by a rough-gloved hand pressed to his lips. The touch was gentle, but insistent, and he scowled at Mustang, tempted to sink his teeth into the man's palm as punishment.

'Don't mention your alchemy to anyone,' Roy whispered urgently, hunkering down in front of Ed as he withdrew his hand, leaving Ed's lips tingling in the wake of his touch, 'and make sure you keep your arm and leg covered around anyone except my men. Do you understand?'

'I'm concussed, not stupid,' Ed hissed. 'Would have thought the military would be desperate to get rid of me now I'm dead-weight. What good's a State Alchemist who can't transmute?'

Roy's mouth narrowed into a hard line, and when he spoke his voice was fierce. 'If they find out about any of what happened, they won't just kick you out, Ed. You'll be going to the labs, and not as a researcher. They'll want to know how you got rid of your automail and what's happened to your ability. You know that people who end up in there don't come out the same, if at all.' He swallowed, glancing towards the door before he looked back, his eyes bright with determination. 'I'm not going to let that happen to you.'

It was difficult not to snarl that he didn't need protecting, that he wasn't some little kid, but Ed managed to hold it back. Mustang would take it upon himself to help whether Ed wanted him to or not.

He slumped down in the sofa, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and wincing as his head and arm ignited with synchronised sparks of pain. 'So what do you want me to do?' he asked quietly. 'It's not exactly like I can hide what's happened. Maybe I can cover up my arm and leg, but eventually someone will send me out on assignment, and it's going to be pretty obvious that I'm not what everyone thinks.'

Mustang shook his head, his jaw tight as he replied. 'I'm in control of your workload, and I can make sure that you aren't put in that position until we sort things out. Whoever that alchemist was, Ed, this was a change he forced on you. It can be undone.' He said it without a trace of doubt, as if Roy needed to believe it as much as Ed longed to put his faith in those words. 'You still know about alchemy, don't you? It's not affected your understanding of the principles?'

'No, it's all still there,' Ed replied, glancing at Al before he added, 'All of it; it just doesn't work.' He dragged in a harsh breath as his stomach twisted. The worst case scenario – that he would never be able to perform alchemy again – lingered beneath the surface of his thoughts: a blackened nightmare that he couldn't bring himself to face. Now it seemed like Roy was trying to give him a little bit of hope.'Maybe if I could get a good look at the array he used, I could figure out a way to undo what happened.'

'And if you can, what then? Will you risk facing the Gate again?' Al asked quietly, his face white in the firelight as he watched Ed with dreading eyes. 'Maybe you've not got your alchemy, brother, but you're better off now than you have been for years. I'm in one piece and so are you. Isn't that what we always wanted?'

Ed looked away, down at the two flesh hands curled in his lap, at the length of his arm and the scar-less skin. Al was right. The chances were that anything he did would take him straight back to that plane, and he wouldn't be alone. He couldn't activate the array like this; he'd need someone else to do that for him, and there was nothing in this world that would make him put Al back at that threshold. Nothing.

All he could do was ask another alchemist, and what right did he have to expose someone else to the darkness at alchemy's core, to take someone innocent to those shadows and offer them up at those doors, a sacrifice for his gain?

Yet the alternative was a life without alchemy.

'There might be a way to leave the Gate out of it,' he replied, pretending he couldn't hear the hoarseness of his words. 'If there isn't then I'll leave it, but I've got to try, Al. If that fucker did it to me, he could do it to someone else. We need to understand what happened.' He looked to Mustang for confirmation, watching him nod his head.

'Unfortunately, this isn't just about Edward. Anti-alchemist sentiment has been on the increase. If people knew there was a way to block a users ability to transmute... .' He shrugged, rubbing his thumb and index finger together absently. 'It doesn't bear thinking about. There are some people who wouldn't hesitate to try and make all alchemists a thing of the past. We need to know what we're up against.'

Roy stood up again, nodding to where Hughes was waiting by the door. 'I'll go and copy down what's left of the array at the warehouse. Bring anything you find in Intelligence back here. Fuery?'

'Yes, sir?'

'I need you to stay put and keep an eye on Ed and Al, as well as keep the office running. Hawkeye and the others might report here looking for me. I'll be back as soon as possible.' Roy's gaze flicked between Ed and Al before he added, 'You two should try and get some sleep. I know it's not exactly comfortable, but I can't spare anyone to get you back to your apartment. Besides, it's probably safer for you to stay at Headquarters until your attacker is in custody.'

When Ed rolled his eyes, Roy raised an eyebrow. 'That was actually an order, Fullmetal. Rest. Now.'

It was easy to snarl and flip the finger at Mustang's retreating back, but Ed was in enough pain to admit that Roy was right, for once. They couldn't go back to the apartment tonight. He didn't care about himself. Alchemy or not, he could still wipe the floor with any thug who got in his way, but the sound of metal hitting Al's skull kept replaying in his mind with gruesome finality. The guy who did this could have killed Al as easily as not, and then Ed knew he really would have been left with nothing.

'I'll get you two some pillows and blankets, sir,' Fuery said , already on his way out of the door. The communications officer had always ignored Ed's pleas to disregard his rank, and Ed eased himself back down onto the couch with a sigh. He was too tired to make an issue out of it right now. Everything hurt, and his head felt like it was filled with rocks, heavy and sharp.

He dragged the thick wool coat up to his chin, breathing in the spice and smoke scent of Mustang's cologne that lingered in the fabric. It was a comforting fragrance, and he buried his nose in the black cloth, letting his eye narrow to sleepy slits in the unsteady firelight.

Roy had left it behind, Ed realised, choosing to brave the cold rather than deprive him of his makeshift blanket. Idiot. It was freezing outside; didn't the bastard know how to look after himself? Ed sighed, knowing it was too late to go chasing after him now. Besides, he would never admit it out loud, but something about Roy's concern was enough to bring some of the warmth back to Ed's frame.

Fuery wandered back into the room, handing them both extra blankets and pillows before bidding them a shy goodnight and leaving them alone to get some sleep. For a few minutes, the only sounds were of Al making a nest of blankets on the floor near the fire, and Ed had almost drifted off to sleep when Al's whisper ghosted through the air, hushed and afraid.

'Brother?'

'Yeah?' Ed rasped, shifting his weight to try and chase off some of the pain that seized his left knee, gnawing mercilessly at the joint.

'Are you going to be okay?'

Coming from Al, that was a loaded question. No one knew him better than Alphonse, and he wasn't just asking about Ed's physical health. Yet it was easier said than done to give him a straight answer. Sometimes Ed felt like he'd spent his whole life doing what was best for his little brother, and he'd rather lie than make Al worry.

'I'll be all right. Don't worry.' His reply was gentle but dismissive, and it was clear that Al didn't buy it for one second. His eyes met Ed's in the weak firelight, deep with doubt and that same weary annoyance that always marked his face when he knew Ed was trying to avoid talking about something.

Slowly, his expression softened, and he shuffled down under the blankets in front of the hearth, settling down in his makeshift bed before his next whispered question drifted through the air. 'What's it like? Not being able to do alchemy, I mean.'

Ed gazed at the warm skin of his right hand, taking in the slender lines of his fingers and the blue road-maps of veins along the vulnerable inside of his wrist. Light hairs gleamed along his arm, gold where once there had been cold, clinical silver and the flat lines of metal plates. It was unbelievable, miraculous, in a way, but that didn't stop the ice cracking in his stomach as Al's words drove the truth home.

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, clenching his hand into a fist as he forced the words out.

'Like losing a limb.'


	5. Chapter 5

Roy cuffed his hair from his eyes with the back of his hand, blinking aside the blur of tiredness that tried to veil his sight. His cold fingers were wrapped clumsily around a pencil, guiding it across the page as he charted out the remains of the array. He stood on a small platform on the metal stairs that climbed one wall of the warehouse to give access to the roof space. The iron was rusted and old, but stable, and it gave him a perfect view of the design.

Whatever it had once looked like, the circle was now a broken jigsaw of parts, overwritten by the alchemist's later array and cracked by the resulting transmutation. Parallel lines of devastation gouged through the floor, like some massive animal had sharpened its claws on the concrete, and fallen debris pock-marked the image.

A handful of hours ago, Roy had been sitting at his desk, bored to tears of monotonous paperwork and wishing for something to drag him away from it. Now he'd give anything to go back to that routine. His head was thudding with the weight of his thoughts, some cool and logical while others were hotter with panic and pity. He felt like a harp string pulled too tight, resonating with tension, and there was nothing here to put him at his ease.

The stranger had stood right _there_ while Fullmetal lay pinned within his creation, trapped like an animal. He'd touched the array, and it was as if the whole world had flipped on its head. Certainties about alchemy were knocked aside like sandcastles before the tide, and Ed had suffered as a consequence. That man, whoever he was, had robbed Ed of his alchemy, and Roy had let him get away with it.

He gritted his teeth, pausing in his work to take a deep breath. It was tempting to get someone else to do this, to leave it in the hands of a soldier and hurry to the river bank himself. Maybe he'd have some luck where the others had failed. Perhaps he could find the wretch who'd done this and throttle him until he gave back everything he had taken... .

Shifting his weight, he pushed the thought aside. His best men were focussing all their efforts on bringing in the alchemist, and his presence would only divide their concentration between their search and his protection. Besides, this was important. It had to be done right. If Ed was going to bend his mind to working out what had happened, then he needed to be sure that the copy was accurate. It needed an alchemist's expertise, and he was the best suited to the job.

Narrowing his eyes, Roy swore as he realised almost a quarter of the design had been wiped out. Perhaps the stranger had done it on purpose; he had to know that the first thing anyone would do was try to understand and re-use his schematic. Had he made sure that there wouldn't be enough left for Ed to study?

Even if the whole design had survived, it wouldn't be an easy task. Now, Roy was afraid it had become impossible. He was proud of his ability with alchemy, but he knew that what he was looking at was far beyond his comprehension. If he hadn't known its function, he would have thought it was beautiful: a pinnacle of excellence, but all he felt when he stared at the sweeping lines was heavy dread and sick repulsion.

At first it was hard to believe what Ed had told him. The very thought of someone impeding an alchemist's abilities, of taking the talent for themselves, was unthinkable. Yet, even as his mind had reeled in disbelief, the expression on Ed's face had driven the truth home. The young man's anger was genuine, but Roy recognised it as a mask for everything else: fear, uncertainty and the choking shroud of denial.

Ed couldn't allow himself to believe that he would never be able to perform alchemy again, and the possibility bled the heat out of Roy's heart. His eyes flickered to the arrays on the back of his gloves, dark on white in the poor glow of the lights. For him, alchemy was a facet of his life – one of many cornerstones that supported the man he had become, but for Ed it was much more than that.

It was an integral part of who he was, far more than a tool to pick up and use. Every day, Ed's focus returned to alchemy like a compass swinging to North, and without it... . Roy swallowed, rubbing his temple as he realised how devastating this could be for the young man under his command. Without alchemy, Ed would be lost. He had constructed his entire identity on his abilities, and now they were gone. As soon as Ed started to face that fact, he would falter.

Roy would never assume to understand all of what Ed was going through but, as wildly different as he and Fullmetal were, there were some parts of their lives in which Roy could see parallels. A lifetime ago, before Ishbal, he had revelled in his alchemy. Being the Flame Alchemist had been something that he was proud of, something beautiful that set him apart from others.

When the war had started, that had changed. His alchemy became something that repulsed him, an implement in a massacre, and that disgust bled through into every part of his life. When hostilities had ended and supposed “normality” resumed, he'd had to change. His alchemy was not the firm foundation to his identity as it had once been.

With Hughes' help, he'd worked around it, had remembered that the Flame Alchemist had another name. Roy had found other goals and other standards by which to evaluate himself, but his alchemy remained. To evolve and grow beyond flashy transmutations and focussed research had been a necessity, but it was also a conscious decision.

Ed didn't have that luxury. He hadn't been given a choice.  
  
Briefly, Roy closed his eyes, trying to push back the frantic surge of emotions. He had to remind himself that Ed was stronger than anyone else he'd ever known. He'd pull himself up and carry on; Ed wouldn't give up, not while there was any hope left of retrieving what had been ripped from him.

Dragging his eyes open, Roy stared at the far-flung scrawl on the floor, making himself focus on the evidence that had been left behind. The design was drawn with great precision, and there was no doubt that it was the summation of several years' work. This was beyond planned; it was an obsession, personal and cruel. Ed wasn't a random victim. He had been chosen to form an integral part of the design, and now he was paying the price of someone else's judgement.

It could have been worse. Roy kept telling himself that as he continued sketching, trying to ignore the twist and writhe of worry in his guts. Ed could have ended up dead as a result of this; instead he had not only his life, but his arm and leg. Most people would say that he came out on top, but how could anyone who wasn't an alchemist even begin to comprehend what had been taken? Even Roy struggled to grasp the concept, and every time he considered it, he felt chilled with disbelief.

He frowned, tapping his pencil on the paper as he tried to marshal his mind into coherence, but it was hopeless. He was thinking in terms of the individual, of Ed, but it wasn't because he couldn't see the bigger picture. He was well-aware of how far the consequences of what happened could go.

If the alchemist went on a rampage, hurting civilians or organisations, then it could tip the balance of opinion in favour of the anti-alchemist movement. The actions of himself and his men over the next few days could be some of the most influential of his career, but his heart kept over-ruling his head and dragging his attention back to the young man who had, once again, found himself neck-deep in trouble.

With a sigh, Roy bent back to his work, checking over his copy to make sure he had every possible element of the design. The sooner he got this back to Ed, the quicker he could try and find a way to undo what had happened. Ed's genius might not have its normal outlet in the simple clap and flash of alchemy, but that had done nothing to reduce its intensity. If anyone could look at the disparate piece of this design and work out a way forward, it would be Fullmetal.

Roy had to believe that; he couldn't stand to think of the alternative.

'Sir?'

Looking towards the door, Roy blinked tiredly at the woman on its threshold. Hawkeye's hair was coming down from its neat twist, and her nose was red with the chill. She was standing to attention, the same as always, but the exhaustion that wove its way through her body was clear. There was a fractional slump to her shoulders, and he could see the dark shadows under her eyes even from this distance.

'I don't suppose you've come here to tell me that the alchemist's in custody, have you, Lieutenant?' he asked, adding the final lines to the copy of the array before slipping it into his pocket and pulling on his gloves.

'No, sir,' she confessed. 'We've been scouring the river banks for the past three hours, but not even the dogs are having any luck. I suspect he headed through the sewers to avoid our search.' It wasn't an excuse; Riza didn't bother trying to explain away any failings, she simply accepted the lack of success and took steps to put it right. 'General Heath left some men under my command. I gave them orders to find likely escape-routes from the river, but the drainage network could take him anywhere. I can't guarantee we'll be able to track him.'

Roy clattered down the metal steps, filling the warehouse with the ring of his footsteps before striding across the floor to Hawkeye's side. He knew that his command would keep working all night if he ordered them to, but part of being an officer was knowing when the fight was lost. 'Leave Heath's men on the job and set up a shift system. We're going to need a twenty-four hour task force, and we can't do that if everyone needs sleep at the same time. You and the others should take first rest. Seven hours; I can't afford to give you any more.'

'Wouldn't it be best for us to keep looking, sir? We've worked longer hours in the past.'

It was the closest thing to a criticism of his orders that she would ever voice, and he kept his words low as he explained, 'Ed said that the alchemist stole his watch and made certain suggestions about his worthiness as a state alchemist. We suspect the man might have hopes for a military post. If that's the case, he'll re-emerge soon enough to make his demands. You can spare the time to sleep, lieutenant. You're no good to me exhausted.'

'Yes, sir. We'll use the dormitories. That way, we can respond quickly to the changing situation.' Brown eyes shot him a sideways glance as they stepped outside, both falling into a natural march. Soldiers nodded acknowledgement of their presence and listened to Mustang's renewed orders to maintain the perimeter, but it wasn't until they were out of earshot that the lieutenant spoke again.

'How are Edward and Alphonse?'

It was a loaded question, and Roy knew that Hawkeye wouldn't only be asking out of her own concern. Whatever he said, she would pass on to the others in the hopes of giving them some reassurance. 'They've both been seen by a doctor and are recovering in my office.' He glanced along the street as they turned the corner towards headquarters. 'I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that the only thing Ed's suffering from is a whack on the head, but I'll have to debrief you in the morning. I can't risk being overheard.'

Hawkeye nodded, reading everything that he wasn't saying. 'Will he be all right?' she asked, delicately scratching the tip of her nose to hide the movement of her lips from anyone who might be watching. It wasn't likely at this hideous time of night, but it paid to be cautious.

He didn't know how to reply and, for the first time since Ed was a boy standing in front of his desk, Roy realised that his faith in the young man's strength had faltered. For years he'd sent him on dangerous assignments. Of course, he worried over Fullmetal's safety, but he had never doubted that the boy would come back alive and furious at whatever corruption or insanity he had found. Now, though, Roy's certainty had fled, leaving him tense with doubt.

'I hope so, Lieutenant,' he replied, digging his hands in his pocket and taking a deep breath of bitter air. 'Whatever happens, this is not something any of us will let Ed deal with alone. It involves everyone, and we'll all take care of it, whether he likes it or not.'

Hawkeye nodded, her lips quirking in a tired smile as they walked into the command compound. The hands of the clock on the tower were edging their way towards two in the morning, and she bid Roy a quiet goodnight as she turned to spread the order to get some sleep amidst his command. 'You'll do the same, won't you, sir?'

'I'll be in my office,' he replied. 'I can catch a few hours of rest there and keep an eye on Ed and Alphonse at the same time.'

She looked at him dubiously, but didn't comment on his decision. 'Sleep well, sir.'

'You too, lieutenant. I'll see you in the morning.'

He smiled wearily at her salute before moving up the steps and into the shelter of headquarters. Normally, in times of crisis, he made use of his suite in the dormitories, but there were times when a good night's sleep away from the rest of the world weren't an option. Tonight, someone needed to watch out for the Elrics, and he wasn't about to let Fuery take up the slack.

Within a minute, he'd nudged his way into the outer office. It was a haven of calm, lit by a few desk lamps and undisturbed by the shrill of the telephone or the whisper of papers. Fuery was huddled over his desk, nursing a cup of coffee and rubbing his eyes. He straightened up when Roy entered, giving a clumsy salute as Roy reached for the coffee pot.

'How are they?' he asked, jerking his head towards the next room where Ed and Al were resting.

'They're all right, sir. I've been waking them up every hour, and apart from the major pulling the needle out of his arm, he's doing what the doctor told him.' Fuery's words tinged with worry, and Roy could understand why. Ed didn't cooperate. He would defy orders simply to be difficult and wave the flag of his independence whenever he got the chance. To hear that he was being obedient was disconcerting.

'Get some rest. I'll take it from here,' Roy ordered, adding milk to his mug. 'Make sure you're back in the office by nine in the morning.'  
  
'Thank you, sir.' Fuery picked up his coat and pushed his glasses up his nose, almost turning to go before he hesitated. 'I almost forgot. Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes left some papers on your desk. He said he was getting a few hours' rest in the dorms, but he'd be back by dawn.'

Roy smiled his thanks as he said, 'I'll look over them. Perhaps we can at least put a name to the perpetrator's face.'

Fuery nodded in agreement, his young face clouded with uncertainty as he glanced back towards Roy's office. 'I hope so, sir. The major seems quieter than usual, but I don't think it'll last. I doubt he'll wait for our help once he's back on his feet.'

'We'll make sure we're ready for that,' Roy promised, 'but we can't do anything if we're all too tired to see straight.'

Fuery grinned wearily and saluted again before turning away, trudging across the office and closing the door in his wake.

The soft peace curled around Roy, pressing down on his ears and dragging at his body. He took a sip of steaming coffee, feeling it burn all the way down to pool in his stomach. The heat was a welcome touch, and he rubbed his eyes before edging towards his office door and peering into the room beyond.

His gaze fell on the sofa, and a frown crossed his face when he realised that the cushions were empty. Only his black coat remained, flared out and rumpled as if it had been kicked away. For a split-second, his heart clenched as his mind raced, conjuring up scenarios of bloody foul-play, but they faded as he realised that Ed hadn't gone far.

Al had curled up in a nest of blankets near the fire, and Ed sat at his brother's side, almost on the hearth as he stared intently at a sheaf of papers in his hand. He hadn't heard Roy come in, and it was obvious that whatever he was reading held his complete attention. His body was motionless, at ease in concentration, and the only sign of life was the occasional blink and the swell of his chest with every steady breath.

Firelight gleamed off of Ed's bare shoulders and caught in his hair, giving the strong gold a molten edge. Shining highlights gleamed on his leather-clad legs, and his face was dappled in gentle shadow. The image was enough to make something shift in Roy's chest and tighten in his stomach, leaving him breathless as he allowed himself the brief luxury to drink in the sight.

God, he was beautiful. It was something Roy tried not to notice too often; he normally fought to stop the thought before it could bloom across his mind, but sometimes it was impossible to deny. The uniqueness of Ed's features had always been eye-catching, even when he was a child. However, where Roy had once seen nothing but a belligerent, short boy with bright hair and piercing eyes, there was now a stunning young man – one who caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with their professional relationship.

The change had been subtle, at first, so much so that Roy had barely noticed the different, edgier quality of his frustration. He hadn't realised that what he was feeling seemed to be coming from somewhere lower in his body and, by the time he did, it was too late to go back. It was as if Ed had reached into Roy's brain and flipped a switch, irrevocably changing his focus.

These days, he couldn't see Ed as just a subordinate. Even if it weren't for the thick, heavy knot of desire that tightened in Roy's guts whenever it got the chance, there would still be more to their dynamic than their ranks dictated. Ed's passion for life, for everything, always demanded reciprocity, challenging every single one of Roy's masks and reservations. Ed made him _feel_ more than anyone else had done for years. Every emotion was heightened and intensified by Ed's presence, and Roy had found himself revelling in the experience.

Perhaps that was why what had happened tonight was still sitting leaden in his stomach, a dead-weight beneath his skin. If it had happened to any other alchemist, it would have been disturbing, but would it have inspired this lingering horror and circling fear? He doubted it. In the end, it wasn't so much the events that had taken place that had left him unsettled to the core, but the simple fact that it was Ed who was suffering as a result.

Roy looked at Ed's right arm, watching the light flicker over the skin-sheathed muscles. On anyone else it would have looked natural, but on Ed it was out of place. Where was the gleam of metal, the silver strength of plates and bolts? Ed's automail had been as much a part of him as his alchemy and, for the first time, Roy wondered what Ed thought of getting his arm and leg back.

He hadn't said anything about it when they'd spoken earlier, had seemed neither pleased or disappointed by the change. If anything, Ed's expression had been distrustful, as if he was half-expecting it to be ripped away again at any moment. It must be a struggle for both body and mind to accept and, even now, Ed was holding the papers in his left hand, rather than his right, as if he didn't trust his fingers to grip them properly.

Quietly, Roy moved closer, skirting around the sofa and holding in a sigh as he realised what Ed was reading. Intelligence files, probably the ones that Hughes had left on the desk. There were several folders spread out around Ed. Most of them looked like they'd been pitched aside, automatically rejected as possibilities, but the scowl on Ed's face as he read the dossier in his grasp was enough for Roy to guess that he'd found the man they were looking for.

'Those are confidential, Fullmetal,' he murmured, raising an eyebrow when Ed jerked his head up, lips parted and eyes startled. 'A major doesn't have the necessary clearance to read Intelligence reports.'

In a second, all signs of surprise were gone, leaving Ed's face shadowed with anger. 'Even when they're about people who threatened me?' he asked darkly, gesturing to the half-dozen or so files. 'It's not just one or two, Mustang. I can't believe you didn't tell me about this!'

Roy glanced at the nondescript documents, knowing that these wouldn't be the only people who had brought themselves to the attention of Intelligence. Hughes would only have picked out the likely suspects, but he wasn't about to tell Ed that. 'Maes didn't even inform me about these ones. Part of his job is to analyse this kind of thing so that we don't have to. Besides, what would you have done if you knew?'

Ed lifted his left shoulder in an irritated shrug. 'That's not the point.'

'It's exactly the point, Ed. You couldn't have taken them all down, and knowing about them wouldn't help you sleep at night.' He took in the shadows under Ed's eyes and the exhausted tension in his bare arms. 'Speaking of which, you're meant to be resting.'

A familiar scowl pinched Ed's brow, pulling at the stitches that picked their way across his temple. 'I'm not tired,' he said, setting his jaw in a stubborn line. 'Too sore to sleep, and every time I finally drifted off Fuery woke me up again.' He shrugged. 'I thought I might as well do something useful.' Ed looked back down at the file thoughtfully before turning it around for Roy to see.

There was a photo, a head-shot; the man within its borders looked considerably younger than the alchemist they had confronted earlier in the evening. Still, perhaps the last few years had been hard on him. There were definitely enough similarities to raise his suspicions, and Ed didn't seem to have any doubts that this was the guy they were looking for.

'Malcolm Foster,' he sneered. 'The fucker was another alchemist taking the State exams at the same time as me. Not the one who screwed up, because I would have recognised him instantly, but one of the others.'

Roy put his coffee down on the low table and reached forward, twitching the papers from Ed's grip so that he could read them himself. The official documentation was thin on the ground. There were copies of the threats Foster had sent, and Roy's stomach clenched with dread. He didn't dare to read them in front of Ed; Roy couldn't guarantee that he could keep his reaction off of his face. That part of the file would have to wait.

Another piece of paper caught his eye, and he realised it was a transcript of Foster's written exam. A cursory glance through the marks made him frown, and he glanced at Ed over the top of the folder. 'Are you sure it's him? I'll admit they look alike, but he barely scraped a pass.'

'So?' Ed asked, his shoulders shifting in a shrug before he winced, rubbing at the muscles in his neck with his left hand. 'What's that got to do with anything?'

Reaching his fingers into his pocket, Roy tugged free the copy of the array and held it out. 'This design is far beyond my expertise, and I achieved more than a mere passing score. You did better still, so how did an alchemist of less than dazzling ability put it together?'

Ed looked at him through the tousled fall of his hair, his eyes narrowed as he considered Roy's point. It was a deep, searching gaze, one that seemed to slip past the inconvenient barrier of Roy's skull and read his thoughts off of the surface of his mind. He tried to keep his face impassive as feather-soft thrills raced through him and his skin prickled with awareness, but it was impossible to stop the warmth creeping into his cheeks in response to Ed's scrutiny.

Finally, Ed reached forward to take the sketch, unfolding the paper and staring down at the lines on the page. The frown on his brow deepened, and there was no mistaking the pain that was carving its way into his expression as he shifted position, trying to get comfortable.

'Didn't the doctor leave you some tablets to take?' Roy asked, letting his voice slip into the easy, commanding tones of a superior officer. 'They'll probably make you feel better.'

The snort Ed gave was loud enough to make Al stir in his make-shift bed, and the two of them watched, waiting to see if the young man would awaken. When he turned over and nestled deeper into his pillow, Ed let out a sigh of relief, fixing Roy with a hard glare as if it was his fault they'd almost disturbed Al's sleep. 'I've had the pills before. They make me weird.'

'“Weird?”' Roy repeated, rolling his eyes when Ed's only response was a vague nod. He was already checking over the outline of the array, losing himself in a story only he could see. After a few moments, Roy realised he wasn't going to get anything out of Ed until he'd examined the design from every angle, and he settled himself in the armchair with a sigh before flipping through Foster's file.

It seemed that Hughes had his own suspicions; there were scribbled notes in the margins providing more up-to-date information than the military would have had available. It probably hadn't taken more than a few quick phone-calls, but Roy gave silent thanks for Maes' dedication anyway. At this stage in the game, information was everything.

Foster was working for a corporate laboratory in the city, but his research field wasn't listed. He'd been holding down a steady job for most of the time since Ed had joined the military. It was an undistinguished career: no notes of merit and nothing out of the ordinary except the occasional disciplinary action about time-keeping.

A closer look showed that Foster's behaviour seemed to occur in waves. He would be late to work in the morning and leave early for days at a time, until someone took him to task for it. Then he would be the perfect employee for a while, a month or two, sometimes even half a year, before returning to his old ways.

On the back cover of the file, scribbled in Maes' neat hand, there was a residential address. Underneath was a simple note, telling Roy that the flat had already been located and searched for the alchemist's presence: he wasn't home. Pursing his lips, Roy glanced at the clock. Hughes would have secured Foster's rooms, making sure that they were under military jurisdiction and guard, but even if the man wasn't there, his apartment could give them some insight into his personality. It might even tell them where he was likely to go.

Roy sighed, knowing it was a bad idea. He couldn't go searching through the place now. The only other person awake was Ed, and there was no way in hell that Roy was dragging him, concussed and compromised, across the city in the middle of the night. It would have to wait. He couldn't conduct his own investigation with only Fullmetal as backup. Before, it would have been acceptable, but Ed still looked woozy and sore, bloody and battered. The physical evidence of what had happened lingered all over his skin, and Roy wasn't about to drag him out, still hurting, into a painful world.

He glanced across at Ed, realising the younger man had a pencil in his hand. He kept looking down at the inked lines that drifted over his flat stomach and curled across his chest, eyes narrowed as he adjust their orientation and slipped them neatly into the sketch. It was clear that he still knew what he was doing, and Roy wondered if that was a blessing or a curse. Was it better for Ed to retain all of the knowledge he had gained over the years and not be able to put it to use, or to forget it all and not know what he was missing?

It had to be hurting him, this convoluted situation of loss and gain, and yet Roy couldn't see any obvious signs of distress in Ed's face. He was good at reading people, at taking in the nuances of their behaviour and expressions, and Ed was normally an open book to him. He had seen every emotion from fury and disgust to grudging respect in the younger man's eyes, but now there was nothing to see except a chilling practicality and the same, intense focus that had occupied the years he'd spent searching for the Stone.

Roy almost voiced the questions on his mind, almost asked Ed if he wanted to talk about it, but the words didn't pass his lips. Even if Ed was managing to hide his real feelings, Roy wasn't exactly a likely confidant. Perhaps the anger between them had faded and the resentment had been tempered with a faint understanding, but Ed wasn't likely to offer any of his inner-self to Roy. How could he? That took trust and, in all the years they'd spent fighting the same battle from opposite sides of the desk, that was one thing they hadn't managed to find.

Abruptly, he realised that Ed was no longer looking at the page. His gaze had lifted, meeting Roy's thoughtful stare head-on, and he was watching him with his head tipped fractionally to the side as if he were trying to understand what he was seeing. One eyebrow was arched in curiosity, and a faint flush ghosted across Ed's cheeks. 'Why are you staring at me?'

Roy blinked himself awake, shaking his head in a hasty dismissal as he tried to hide his embarrassment. 'No reason. I was just – thinking.' Shifting his weight, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and changing the subject before Ed could ask another question. 'Is there enough there for you to work out what Foster was doing?' he asked, nodding towards the paper in Ed's hands. 'I think he deliberately made sure we were missing some of the pattern in the hopes we wouldn't be able to make anything of it.'

'Yeah, well, he's not me,' Ed replied. 'I helped Al with nothing more to go on that a stupid rumour, didn't I?'

It wasn't a straightforward “yes”, and Roy held back a sigh as he picked out the faint undertone of doubt to Ed's words almost hidden beneath cocky false bravado. 'This is different,' he pointed out, making sure to keep his voice down. 'With the Stone, the alchemy was your own creation. It's a different thing to look at pieces of someone else's array and understand what they were trying to do.'

Ed wrinkled his nose. 'I know that,' he growled, 'but it's not like we're finding this in some dusty old ruin, completely out of context. We know what it does.' He waved his right hand meaningfully. 'For fuck's sake, I was lying right in the middle of the stupid thing!' He took a deep breath, biting his lip as he fought to stifle the flash of his temper. 'This isn't about what it did, Mustang. It's about how it did it. If I know that, then I can see if it's possible to change things back.'

Roy hesitated, pursing his lips and glancing down at the floor, not daring to meet Ed's eyes. He didn't want to give voice to the doubts that lingered in his mind, but it was necessary. Ed couldn't face all this without considering the possibility of failure. He had to acknowledge that whatever Foster had done to him might be permanent.

'What if it's not possible?' he asked quietly. 'You already told Al you wouldn't go back to the Gate for this. Were you just saying that to make him feel better?' He glanced at Ed from behind the fall of hair across his brow, watching him stare into the fire.

'If it was just me doing it, then maybe I would go back,' Ed murmured. 'I lost my arm and leg, but at least I had the automail. You can't do that for alchemy. It can't be replaced with anything.' He shook his head as if trying to clear his vision of a picture only he could see. 'But it's not that simple. I can still draw arrays and think like an alchemist, but I couldn't activate anything. I wouldn't be able to do it on my own, and there's no fucking way I'm dragging anyone else to that place.'

A shiver trailed down Roy's spine, chilling him to the bone as he grasped what Ed was saying. 'Are you telling me you'd willingly give up your arm and leg again if it restored your ability to do alchemy?'

Ed looked at his right hand, turning it palm-up and gazing at the light-dappled skin as he gave it some thought. 'Maybe, but it doesn't matter. The Gate doesn't work like that. It always takes the one thing you weren't willing to lose. You don't get to decide the price.' Anger drew tight lines around his mouth, and when Ed looked up again there was no sign of uncertainty or confusion, only pure, vicious rage. 'That bastard Foster walked away. He performed a kind of human transmutation and got what he wanted, but what the hell did he give up?'

Of course, equivalent exchange. Even after all this time Ed still fought to hold onto the black and white of that one ideal. Perhaps it was because there was nothing else he could believe in so, when faced with a reality that brought the principle into question, he reacted with anger and disbelief rather than logical thought.

'I don't know how the Gate works,' Roy replied, choosing his words carefully as he tried to give Ed some element of reassurance. 'I've only seen second-hand what it does to people – what it did to you and Al. It took the obvious: a body, a leg, but it doesn't just give and take the tangible, does it?'

Reluctantly, Ed shook his head, his bridling shoulders relaxing again as he considered Roy's words. 'It took my arm in exchange for the knowledge of how to help Al. You think it took something from Foster that we couldn't see?'

'Anyone who didn't know you would never realise anything was missing,' Roy pointed out. 'There's nothing physically different between people who can and can't perform alchemy. I expect we'll find out what it did to him sooner or later.' He sighed, leaning back in the armchair and cuffing at his eyes.

'Got to find him first, and it's not like you're having much luck with that so far,' Ed replied, cocking his head to one side as he took in Roy's rumpled appearance with a grimace. 'You look like shit.'

'Thank you,' Roy replied sarcastically. 'You don't exactly look brilliant yourself, Fullmetal.'

Ed pulled a face, but when he spoke again it was with a logical tone, blunt and to the point. 'You can't catch anyone if you're dead on your feet. Why don't you get some sleep? That's what you told everyone else to do, isn't it?'

He had a point. Roy ran a hand through his hair, glancing across at Al's prone form before he looked back at Ed. 'I'll get some sleep if you will. You might not feel like it, but rest's probably the best thing for you.'

It was the kind of compromise he'd heard Alphonse use on Ed a hundred times over the past year. More often than not, Ed would eschew fulfilling his basic needs as he strove towards his next goal, but if someone else threatened to ignore their hunger or exhaustion along with him, he would normally cooperate. Not happily, he would grouch and whine and complain about it, but the end result was the same.

However, Ed cared for Al's well-being. Seeing his little brother well-fed, rested and happy was paramount, and Roy knew it was unlikely that the ploy would work for him. After all, what did Ed care if he slept or not?

He watched the indecision flicker over Ed's features, but it was clear that he was as exhausted as the rest of them. Vivid blue bruises underscored his eyes, and his shoulders were rounded as if he didn't have the energy left to hold them straight. Roy was preparing himself to make his suggestion a flat-out order for Ed's own good when the young man finally nodded his head. 'Fine, but if you're sleeping in here then you'd better not snore.'

Roy blinked, struck silent by the unexpected agreement. He watched as Ed gently checked on his brother, rousing Al enough to make sure he was all right before dragging the blankets higher up around his shoulders. It was only when he was sure that Al was safe and warm that he padded back to the couch and sank down on the soft cushions, tugging at the covers until he was almost buried under them before turning his back to the fire.

'Night, Mustang. Get some rest.'

'Goodnight,' Roy murmured, smiling faintly as he watched Ed settle himself, easy and natural despite his pain.

He waited until the last of Ed's wriggles and shuffles had fallen still before reaching for the report on Foster again. Sleep could wait. For now, there were more important things to deal with. He was hoping to find something, some little epiphany locked between the neatly typed words but, no matter how many times he read it, it told him the same thing: Foster hadn't been considered a high-risk threat.

Making sure that Ed wasn't watching him from the couch, Roy turned to the threats that Foster had written. The letters complained about the sanctity of the State exams and made a few veiled comments about children in the military, but there was nothing truly harmful in the words.

Ed's name only occurred once in a sentence that was barely legible, as if the man had been shaking when he wrote it. It was no wonder it hadn't rung any alarm bells when it was received. The missives were vague at best, hardly the same as some of the hateful bile that Maes had gently brought to Roy's attention in the past.

Roy sighed, putting the file down and glancing at the clock before reaching for the other papers that Ed had discarded. He needed to check over the other dossiers and make sure Ed wasn't leaping to the wrong conclusion in identifying his attacker.

Minutes slipped away, measured out by the tick of the clock, and Roy blinked as the words began to blur. His eyelids were getting heavy, and every moment it seemed more difficult to concentrate.

Gradually, the sharp sounds of the fire nibbling on its fuel became more distant, and the shadows of exhaustion reached up to wrap him in their clutches.

In a few hours, the hunt would begin in earnest. Now, in the darkest hours before the dawn, Roy slept.


	6. No Smoke Without Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years ago, a boy robbed him of his dream. Now the time has come to take his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! 

**Prompt #87 - Genius**

Title: No Smoke Without Fire  
Rating: NC-17 Overall  
Summary: Years ago, a boy robbed him of his dream. Now the time has come to take his revenge.  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama  
Relationship: Roy/Ed.  
Warnings: Language and threat.  
Length of this part: 6774  
Status: Incomplete. Part 5/?  


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_A/N: I almost didn't manage an update today, but here it is. Hope you enjoy it!_

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No Smoke Without Fire: Chapter Five

Ed screwed up his face, opening his eyes as the ache in his arm dragged him out of oblivious sleep. It was a continuous, hollow pain that wormed its way under his ribs, making every breath a struggle. Cramp pinched at his muscles, and he hissed a curse as he shifted his arm, flexing it carefully in the hopes of banishing the sensation.

His leg joined in the chorus, and the growl of his stomach harmonized with the whine of his nerves. He'd dragged his body around from one fight to the next over the years, and Ed knew from experience that the day after was always the worst. When a punch was thrown or blood was drawn, adrenaline could keep the pain at bay. It was only with the next dawn that the chemicals truly ebbed, leaving him at the mercy of his body's complaints.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked around the room, letting his eyes rove over the familiar furniture and skim the rank and file of books on Mustang's shelves. The fire had died in the hearth, leaving a few ruddy stars to glow in the ashes. Outside there was only the city lights; sunrise was near, heralded by a silver edge to the eastern sky but, for now, night still held the world in its grasp.

Al was asleep, curled up in his blankets with half of his face hidden by the pillow. His mouth was open, and Ed grinned despite himself at the sight of his brother's features. There was a time, not that long ago, that he thought he'd never see Al like that again. Now he sometimes forgot that it had ever been any other way.

A quiet sound from the armchair dragged Ed's gaze upward, and he winced in sympathy. Roy had dozed off, his head propped uncomfortably on the wing of the chair back. His neck would hate him for that when he woke up, but at least the bastard had kept his promise. Mustang loved telling Ed to look after himself, but the general never took his own advice.

Ed shifted his weight, sitting up and swinging his feet over the edge of the couch. The deep pile of the rug tickled his left foot, sending shimmying ghosts of sensation up his leg, and he wriggled his toes experimentally against the floor. He didn't know what was more weird, the sudden rush of feeling after the deadness of the automail, or the fact that, even after years of absence, his arm and leg still reacted instinctively to the messages from his brain.

Reaching for his socks and boots, he tugged them on before getting to his feet, grimacing as the ache in his head started up again. It was more sullen this time, but at least it left enough room in his skull for his racing thoughts.

Not that his brain had anything useful to add to the situation. Fears flitted through his conciousness like butterflies, alighting for only a moment before they took flight again. He couldn't hold them still long enough to focus on their details, and Ed rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck, grimacing at the blood that matted in his hair. For now he'd have to concentrate on the basics, like getting clean and dressed. Maybe then he'd feel more able to deal with all of _this_.

He scooped Mustang's military coat up from the couch, almost losing his balance when he automatically compensated for the non-existent weight of the automail. A spine-twanging twist stopped him collapsing head first into the sofa cushions, and he mouthed a vicious curse at his lack of grace.

Al thought it was a good thing he had his real arm and leg back but, as much as he'd hated the ugly scars and brash metal of the automail, Ed had grown used to it. It was a part of him, and now its absence was more than just strange, it was almost crippling.

A lot of his physical training had occurred with the added burden of the automail in place. His body expected its weight, and now muscles used to dragging around the heavy metal overworked themselves, leaving him off-balance and clumsy. In normal life it was embarrassing, but in a fight it could be lethal. He'd probably adapt, but did he have that kind of time?

Pulling on the coat, Ed wrapped it around himself like a robe, covering up every inch of his bare chest and arms before digging his right hand into the pocket. Anyone looking at him wouldn't know how radically altered his body was and, with any luck, he could get to the showers in the dormitories without having to answer any awkward questions.

He slipped out of the office and into the hallway, ignoring the click of his trailing laces on the floor as he hurried towards the dormitory building. There was no one else around, and Ed sucked in a breath of frost-cracked air as he left the main command building and crossed the parade ground, feeling like a thief creeping through the shadows.

No one was awake yet, and Ed glanced along the long, door-pocked corridor before turning into one of the many shower rooms. There was a bank of lockers along one wall, and he switched direction. One of them was his, although he barely used it. He hadn't even looked inside for months, and part of him dreaded what he might find.

Counting along the rank he found the right number and twisted the combination lock. It clicked open easily. Nothing leapt out at him, and he peered at the contents of the metal box. There were library books, probably so overdue that replacements had been bought by now, and slicks of paper: old reports to Mustang, more full of abuse than anything useful, abandoned letters to Winry and Granny Pinako, and expenses receipts.

Shoving all that aside he reached into the back, hesitating as his fingers curled around something soft. Pulling it out into the light, he realised that it was one of his black vests and a pair of boxers, both musty but clean. They were folded, so Al had probably put them in there, although Ed had no idea how long ago. Unfortunately, there was nothing in the locker with long sleeves. Since the bastard back at the warehouse had taken his coat and jacket, there was nothing he could wear to hide his arms.

With a sigh, Ed turned to the open rack at the end of the room. There were white towels stacked high, still warm and dry from the laundry room, as well as one or two folded shirts that soldiers had sent out to have cleaned. The cost would come out of their pay, and Ed felt a flicker of guilt as he stacked both towels and a shirt in his arms. Whoever owned it probably had clothes to spare, he reasoned. Besides, his need was greater.

Moving towards the shower furthest from the door, Ed shucked out of the coat and his remaining clothes before kicking them all out of the way and flicking on the taps. The water warmed up in seconds, but the sensation of the deluge was still enough to make him gasp and twist away.

It wasn't pain, not exactly, but every inch of new skin thrummed in response to the dancing droplets. He could feel each trail of water as it wound down his body, and the temperature sent a rash of pins and needles up his arm. Shutting his eyes, Ed tried to ignore it, forcing himself to step back under the cascade and reach for the soap.

The shower was perfunctory, enough to scrape the ink off of his skin and lather the blood from his hair. He wished he could stay longer and let the heat drum the aches from his muscles, but he didn't dare. He had to be dressed before anyone else woke up.

Turning off the spray, he grabbed the towels, wrapping himself up in them and shivering as trails of vapour curled through the air. Quickly, Ed dried himself off and dragged on underwear, trousers, socks and the familiar black vest. The cotton of the shirt whispered over his bare arms as he tugged it on, doing up a few buttons and leaving the collar open. It fit fine across the chest, but the cuffs came almost to his fingertips, and he flapped them in annoyance before clapping his hands together.

Immediately, the hot flush of humiliation and anger swept through him, and his heart sank like a stone as his hands dropped back to his sides. 'Fuckin' idiot,' Ed muttered to himself, clawing his fingers through his wet hair and meeting his eyes in the mirror. His reflection was distorted by the fog that clung to the pane, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. He knew exactly what he would see, and he didn't want to face his own uncertainty right now.

Alchemy was second nature to him, and his instincts had been honed over the years to reach for an array first and every other method of assistance as a last resort. He took it for granted, not just for the big things like building walls and getting out of trouble, but for every day activities like fixing clothes, drying his hair and heating up his coffee when it got cold.

He'd got his arm and leg back, but he was crippled all the same, unable to perform even the most basic activities with his usual ease.

With a snarl that held more despair than anger, Ed turned back to his locker, rummaging through the debris for a comb and a band for his hair. He found what he was looking for and straightened up, slamming the door shut before dragging ferociously at the tangles. His head throbbed in response to the rough treatment, but it was better to be angry than to calm down and let other feelings rise to the surface. Better that he clung to the shield of his rage than gave in to the dark font of despair that waited in the wings for a moment of weakness.

Ed put his damp hair in a ponytail before turning around and shuffling his feet into his boots. Within a minute he'd thrown the towels into the dirty laundry pile and cleaned up after himself, leaving the communal bathroom in much the same state as he had found it. Judging from the sounds of people stirring from their beds, he'd timed things just right.

Picking up Mustang's coat, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and buried his fingers in the pockets again before slipping out into the corridor and pacing down its length. He didn't acknowledge anyone else and didn't even stop until he was standing on the parade ground.

Dawn's first blush lit Central's skyline, and Ed found himself staring at the silhouettes of the low buildings. Foster was out there somewhere, losing himself in the city's warren-like streets and hiding like a rat in the sewers. Ed felt like he should be able to sense the bastard. He'd stolen something so important, so integral, that Ed didn't understand how it wasn't lighting up like a beacon in his sensory world. Missing limbs still hurt after they were long gone, so how could this, so newly lost, leave him with nothing?

It was tempting to leave, to dart out there into the metropolis and start tearing the place apart. The military tramped all over everything with heavy boots and scared the guilty into hiding, but one person could slip into the secret places, could ask the right questions and get the right answers where others had failed. A few days ago he would have done it – would have left Mustang and the others to do things through the official channels while he actually got the job done, but it couldn't work that way any more.

Ed shook his head, turning back towards headquarters and walking up the steps with a weary stride. He wasn't helpless or afraid, he _wasn't_. Picking a fight when he was at full strength was fine, but he wasn't so arrogant that he thought he could take down Foster on his own, not without his alchemy. Besides, as satisfying as it might be to catch the fucker and beat him to bloody mist, it wouldn't solve the problem.

It was like searching for the stone all over again. All Ed had wanted to do was throw himself into the fray and solve the mysteries of the world, but that hadn't been the way forward. Brute force was more of a hindrance than a help. In the end, it had been the research that gave them what they needed to succeed. The same was true now. His body was unsteady and mis-balanced, weak in a way it hadn't been for years, and his alchemy was gone. The only certainty left was his intelligence. That, at least, Foster hadn't been able to touch.

A dark smile crossed Ed's lips. The man had spat the word “genius” like it was a curse, but it was probably all Ed had left that Foster counted as a threat. He couldn't match the bastard when it came to transmutations, and he couldn't out-fight him – not yet, but he sure as hell could out-think him.

The smell of coffee tickled Ed's nose as he approached the office, and he nudged the door open to see Hughes standing over the pot, hand over his mouth as he smothered a yawn. The man's uniform was rumpled and there were pillow-creases in his face. He'd probably literally fallen out of bed and come straight here.

Maes gave Ed a wry grin, grabbing two mugs and filling them both. 'You look as tired as I feel,' he commented, cutting Ed a glance over the top of his glasses. 'How are you?'

Ed opened his mouth to reply, but something made him hesitate. If Mustang's inner office had been bugged, then who was to say that this room was any more secure? His uncertainty must have shown in his face, because Hughes grinned before holding a steaming mug of coffee out to Ed.

'It's all right, this room's clear,' he confirmed. 'The phone-lines are tapped, but nothing more. You can say whatever you want out here, as long as you don't yell it loud enough for people in the corridor to hear.'

Taking the cup in his left hand, Ed gave a shrug, looking out of the window rather than at Maes' open, friendly face. 'I'm fine,' he muttered, sipping the bitter brew. 'I ache a bit, but it's nothing too bad.'

'You'd probably say that no matter what had happened.' Hughes sighed, turning to face Ed and leaning back on a nearby desk. 'You do realise that no one believes that, don't you? You're not fooling anyone,' he murmured, 'except maybe yourself.'

Ed rolled his eyes, knowing he shouldn't have expected anything less. Maes was the kind of man who didn't ask if a person needed help. He gave it, whether it was wanted or not.

'It's okay to tell people you feel like crap, that you're angry or hurt or that you don't even know what you're feeling.' Hughes smiled, clearly not phased by Ed's thunderous scowls as he asked, 'Want to give me a real answer?'

'Not really,' Ed replied, his words edged with a warning tone that Maes either didn't notice or ignored completely. 'I'm fit to work, if that's what you're worried about.' He could feel the disbelieving weight of the older man's gaze on him and, after a few moments, he braced himself and looked back at Hughes.

He was so much easier to understand than Mustang. A life spent sorting the truth from the lies had given Maes a blunt honesty, and he made no effort to keep the mixture of parental concern and blatant doubt off of his face. 'You know that's not why I'm asking, Ed,' he said reproachfully. 'I'm worried about you. You have a habit of clawing your way back from one disaster after another, but this isn't your normal kind of trouble. It's not just your body that's aching this time, is it?'

Ed didn't answer, choosing to take another drink from his mug rather than try and put his thoughts into words. He didn't want to have to deal with this: the clumsy uncertainty of others. Throughout his entire adolescence, people saw the automail and looked at him like he was less of a person – somehow incomplete. The truth was, this was the first time since he'd joined the military that he agreed with them, and he hated the wash of self-pity that skimmed through his veins.

'Like I said, I'm fine,' he ground out, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. 'The whole “no alchemy” thing is temporary. As soon as I figure out the array the guy used, me and Al can reverse what he did, and everything will be back to normal.'

He expected Hughes to ask him what would happen if he couldn't do it, but the man held his tongue. Perhaps he knew it was a question that wouldn't help the situation, and a flicker of gratitude shot through Ed at the reprieve. Maes might not believe in Ed's confidence, but he wasn't going to call him out on it.

'If you need any help, then all you have to do is ask,' Hughes said quietly, straightening up and putting his mug aside. 'This isn't just your problem, Ed. Foster represents a serious threat to national stability. I'd ask you to promise me that you won't try and deal with him yourself, but I doubt you'll give me your word on that.'

Ed took a gulp of coffee, tasting its bitterness before he swallowed it back and shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't think Mustang and his command wouldn't do the job, but he knew how his life worked. Nine times out of ten, trouble sought him out, and he knew that if he so much as glimpsed Foster again, he wouldn't hesitate to give chase.

'I can't make promises I'm not sure I can keep.'

Hughes took a breath, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by Roy's office door banging open, and the man himself appeared on the threshold, tousled and edgy.

As soon as he set eyes on Ed, Roy's posture visibly relaxed. Tense shoulders went slack with relief, and alarm melted into annoyance. 'It's all right, Alphonse,' he called over his shoulder. 'He's out here.' He turned back to Ed, brows drawn down into a scowl as he took in wet hair and the coat bundled around Ed's body. 'Where have you been?' he demanded, standing aside to let Al slip past and stand at Ed's side.

'Taking a shower,' Ed snapped defensively. 'Didn't realise I needed your permission for that.'

Mustang clenched his jaw. His mask was useless in the sleepy pre-coffee haze and, for once, Ed could clearly see the anger and frustration that Roy was feeling. 'Don't go anywhere without telling someone. For all we knew, you'd gone off looking for Foster on your own.'

'So what if I had?'

It wasn't really a question, but a challenge, and Roy's hand tightened around the edge of the door, white-knuckled with tension. 'This isn't an assignment where you can do whatever you want and damn the consequences, Ed,' he replied with quiet ferocity. 'Even if there wasn't anything more to this than what happened to you, I still wouldn't let you do it alone. He already got the better of you once. Next time, you might lose a whole lot more than your alchemy.'

Ed looked towards Al, but it was obvious whose side his brother was on. Even though Ed was the victim in all this, no one was about to stand by and let him put things right: not Al, not Hughes and certainly not Mustang.

He let out a tight sigh, too tired and beaten down to argue. 'Just give me the array, Mustang,' he said wearily. 'Foster's your problem. With any luck, I can get my alchemy back without even setting eyes on the bastard again.'

Roy looked at him like he was waiting for the other shoe to fall, suspicious of a victory so easily won. Eventually, he turned around, disappearing back into the office for a couple of minutes before re-emerging with the sketch of the array, as well as the stack of files he'd been reading through last night.

'You might need this,' he said, holding out something hastily scribbled on an official bit of paper. 'It's security clearance, since you don't have your watch. If anyone gives you any trouble, send them to me.' A tired smile curved Roy's lips as he added, 'Most soldiers know you by sight now, anyway, but just in case.'

'Thanks.' Ed took it along with the sketch, knowing he wouldn't have thought about how he was going to get into military buildings until he was toe-to-toe with some bureaucrat, arguing over his right to go wherever he wanted. 'I need to go to the library. Whatever this guy was doing, he had to research it. It'll be quieter there anyway.'

He almost turned to go, but Mustang's question made him hesitate.

'Can you work here for a couple of hours?'

'Why?' Ed growled, almost sure he wasn't going to like where this was going.

'I don't want you wandering around the city on your own.' Roy dropped the files on Havoc's empty desk, folding his arms across his chest and meeting Ed's disbelieving glare head on. 'Even if you don't go looking for Foster, there's every chance he might come out of hiding in search of you. I don't want a repetition of last night.'

'So, what – I've got to have a fucking chaperone now?' Ed shook his head. 'No way, Mustang. I don't need one of your soldiers standing around being bored while I'm trying to work. Besides, Al'll be with me.'

A nervous sound from his right made Ed glance across the room to see a grimace of apology on Al's face. 'Actually, Brother, I have to go to class.'

Of course, Ed had almost forgotten: Al's life was more than this now. He had other responsibilities, and he couldn't drop them simply to help him sort out this mess. 'What about your head?' he said weakly. 'Are you sure you're going to be all right?'

'I'm fine, Brother.' At Ed's doubtful glare he added, 'I don't have to leave for an hour or so. If I start to feel unwell, I'll tell my tutors and come back here.' Al lifted his chin, his eyes thoughtful as he added, 'I have to go in anyway, so I can talk to my professor.'

Ed pursed his lips. He knew the expression on Al's face well, and could recognise the tell-tale signs of his brother plotting something. A prickle of unease ran down his spine, and Ed almost demanded to know what he was thinking, but Roy interrupted him before he got the chance.

'If you can wait here until nine, then Havoc can go with you to the library,' he said. 'You'll be doing him a favour anyway. Foster burned Havoc's hand when he was getting away. He might not admit it, but he could probably do with a day or so away from the main action.'

It wasn't like he was being given a choice. Ed knew that if he argued about it and stormed off on his own, then Mustang would have him watched anyway. Polite men in blue would be lurking amidst the stacks, pretending to be interested in crumbling alchemy texts and never reading a word or turning a page. At least Havoc wouldn't ask annoying questions or get in the way too much.

With a grudging nod, Ed shoved the written authorisation in his pocket and spread out the copy of Foster's design on Falman's tidy desk, quickly blocking out everything except what lay before him. Mustang and Hughes' quiet, concerned conversation faded away, and the sounds of Al rummaging through desk drawers looking for something was no more than a muted rattle on the edge of Ed's hearing.

It was easier to lose himself amidst lines and energy swirls, storage cells and circuits than face the people around him. The design had no expectations of him, no pre-conceived ideas or doubts and, more to the point, he understood the picture in front of him far better than he could untangle the emotions that seemed to twist through the air. What had happened unsettled everyone, and Ed wasn't sure he understood why. None of them had lost anything, none of them had suffered, so why did they care so much?

Al's response he could understand, and Hughes had always taken it upon himself to give a nudge or two of fatherly guidance whether Ed wanted to or not, but Mustang wasn't meant to act like this. He was supposed to be cool and distant, almost indifferent. He was meant to push Ed to solve his own problems, not treat him like he was something worth protecting.

With a tiny shake of his head, Ed pushed his thoughts aside. Generally, he didn't understand people. There was nothing definite about human emotion, no right and wrong. It was all guess-work, and Ed would always rather face the clear distinctions of alchemy than try and understand the people who filled his life.

Someone nudged his elbow, and he looked up to see Al holding out a pair of gloves. 'You're going to need these,' he said, handing them over before pressing his fingertips together and touching the too-long sleeves of Ed's shirt. Immediately, the excess fabric folded up and smoothed out, becoming seamless cuffs as the fibres shortened.

A bright welt of jealousy flashed through Ed, and he shoved it down into the darkness, locking it up tight in his chest. Of all the people in the world, he was not going to lash out at Al. He was only trying to help, and Ed knew he couldn't let even a trace of pain onto his face. Still, that didn't mean that his heart didn't clench and tremble, buffeted by a new storm of fear. Would he ever be able to do that again, or would he always be like this: a stifled, choking version of his former self?

Al looked down at the paper, frowning at the schematic as he took in the basics with one sweep of his gaze. 'Any ideas?' he asked. On anyone else, it might have been a platitude, but with Al it was just what he did. Even as kids he would let Ed do all the theorising, following along and correcting the more hasty assumptions. He was better at the little technicalities, whereas Ed was always the one to see things from a new angle. 'It looks familiar.'

'Some of it's the same as what we used to try and get mum back,' Ed said quietly, pointing out the similarities and seeing the sadness in Al's face. 'Human transmutation, no matter what the result, is built on the same foundation, but we were trying to bring back a whole person. He wasn't.' Ed tapped the symbols thoughtfully, trying to get inside Foster's head and see their purpose. 'This wasn't just about doing alchemy. He was trying to represent it. All the elemental symbols are here; it's balanced, at least from what we've got.'

He eyed the voids in the picture, feeling the muscles in his neck tighten as he realised that, without them, all he could do was guess. 'I don't know what this is.' Ed traced a fingertip along one section of the array. The lines were clean, but tangled. Some of the symbols suggested some kind of destruction, and Ed briefly wondered if Mustang had copied down part of the additional array by mistake. Except that couldn't be it. The fragment fitted perfectly, even if it did look out of place.

'What about this?' Al asked, pointing to what looked a little like writing around the outer edge of the largest circle. 'I've not seen these marks before.'

'No, neither have I. It would help if we knew what research he was using and the root he was basing this design on. It almost looks like he dragged different ideas from every alchemical culture and shoved them into the same array.' Ed glanced at Al, who was nodding in agreement. 'That shouldn't work. They handle energy differently. The whole thing should have blown up in his face.'

'He must have done something to integrate them properly. You talk, I'll take notes.' Without waiting for Ed to agree, he grabbed paper and a pen, jotting down everything they had said so far. Al had become the scribe for their work out of necessity. Even before the automail and his clumsy, left-handed scribbles, Ed's writing hadn't been brilliant. Things such as spelling and coherency went out of the window when his mind was racing with new theories.

They talked quietly, bouncing ideas off of each other and looking at the array from different angles, trying to take in every visual clue it could offer. Someone put breakfast on the desk, and Ed ate it without really noticing, too lost in his thoughts. More than once, he grabbed a pen and scribbled something on Al's notes, using the same basic code as his brother. It wouldn't stop a determined alchemist from deciphering their theories, but it would stop the words being read at a casual glance.

Finally, Ed sighed, shaking his head in frustration as he scrubbed at his eyes. 'It's no good. I really need to get to the library. All we're doing is guessing, and it's getting us nowhere.'

'Well, Lieutenant Hawkeye and the others are in the general's office. They probably won't be long.'

Ed looked around in surprise, realising that the tidy desks were covered in files and that there were several half-empty mugs of coffee lying around. He hadn't even heard them come in. 'Great, so I just have to wait for my babysitter,' he said irritably, frowning as Al gave a tiny sigh.

'Brother, you know people are only trying to help.' Al stood up from the chair, giving Ed a doubtful look. 'Maybe I should stay here anyway. I don't want to leave you on your own when you're like this.'

He meant it, Ed knew that all it would take was one word from him and Al would forget about class, about his future and stick to his side like glue. When they were younger, that was fine, but now Al's life stretched ahead of him, and Ed wasn't going to get in the way of that. 'If you miss class, you'll get in trouble. They might even kick you out,' he reminded him. 'I've got enough people here to watch my back.'

'You'll wait for Havoc? You promise?'

Ed rolled his eyes and nodded. 'Go already, or you'll be late.'

'Be careful, Brother,' Al said with quiet force. 'I'll meet you back here at the end of the day. Please, don't do anything stupid.' He cast one last look over his shoulder before slipping out of the office, reluctance written in every line of his body.

With a sigh, Ed began gathering up the sketch and notes, making sure he had everything he needed. He hated this kind of work. It required patience and insight into the creator, two things Ed didn't have. All he had as a starting point was a partial array and a wealth of possibilities. If he was lucky, all but one of his ideas was wrong. If not, then he would be left in the dark unless Foster cooperated. Somehow Ed doubted the bastard would help him out.

The door to Mustang's office opened, and Havoc stepped out. One hand was wrapped in a light bandage while the other was already groping for a cigarette. He gave Ed a wry grin and flicked an idle salute. 'Ready when you are, Boss. Orders are to be back here by midday, and I thought I'd better get out here before you left without me.'

'Midday?' Ed scowled. 'I'm going to need longer than that.'

'The general said you could bring any books you needed back with you and work on them here.' Jean shrugged, a blatant “What can I do?” gesture that killed Ed's rant before it got started. Havoc was just the messenger; Mustang was the one he should give a piece of his mind.

A quick glance at the clock told him it could wait. He'd make his point when he got back: research couldn't be switched on and off. It didn't work like that. Sometimes you waited days for inspiration, and others the problem could be solved in minutes. Not even Mustang could put this kind of thing on a damned schedule.

'Come on then,' Ed snapped, not waiting for Havoc's response as he marched out of the office. He dodged his way through the morning bustle and made his way out onto the parade ground.

The library wasn't far away, and Ed hesitated long enough to let Jean light up before carrying on. 'How's your hand?' he asked, noticing the way that Havoc was clumsily handling the cigarette between his left fingers rather than taking the risk of setting his bandages on fire.

'Stings a lot,' he muttered in response. 'It's not bad though. Mostly superficial. The guy, Foster, looked as surprised as we were when he let the flames loose. I don't think he was expecting it.' Havoc flicked some ash to the ground, trotting a few steps and falling in at Ed's side. 'Mustang told us what Foster did to you,' he said quietly. 'How are you holding up?'

Ed made a non-committal noise. 'Fine. It's not permanent. As soon as I work out how Foster did it, I'll change it back.' He waited for the gentle questions, but none came. Havoc only shot him a thoughtful look before giving a nod.

'If you say so, Boss. While you're doing that, though, you're going to have to put up with a bodyguard. Mustang's orders.' Jean carried on quickly, not giving Ed a chance to argue back. 'You're not defenceless, we know that, but you're not exactly on top form either. You can throw a punch, but it'll break your fist and you can't clap your way out of a difficult situation.' He looked at Ed, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'Are you even carrying any kind of weapon right now?'

Ed clamped his mouth shut, frowning at the passers by as the stone lions outside the library came into view. Jean was right, but that didn't make the truth any easier to swallow. He could fight, but there was no automail to rely on. Hand-to-hand was a lot easier with a steel fist.

His silence spoke for him, and Havoc ducked his head as they trotted up the library steps. No one bothered to ask them for authorisation, and the lieutenant dropped his voice to a whisper as he said, 'We're only looking out for you until you can look out for yourself, all right? Get a gun or a knife or both and learn how to use them. They're still useful skills to have, even for an alchemist.'

Slowly, Ed nodded, hesitating by the door to one of the reading rooms as he said, 'I'll talk to Hawkeye about it later. Right now, I've got to get to work on this.' He gestured meaningfully with the rolled up sketch before shouldering the door aside and spreading the design out on the table. He barely noticed Havoc settle down by the door, at ease and patient as he let Ed work uninterrupted.

Gradually, the hours slipped by, and Ed crossed off one hypothesis after another. He only left the room to retrieve some of the books he needed, each time hoping to find an answer and only coming up with more questions.

Closing yet another book, Ed straightened up, rubbing absently at his aching arm as he scowled down at the design. More than two hours work, and he was back to square one, with no idea how the array worked or how to undo it. The whole thing was creeping towards the same kind of research he and Al had done on their search for the Stone. Like so many facets of human transmutation, it all came back to the Gate, and the elusive answer to what made alchemists different from everyone else.

Memory stirred, and Ed froze, staring blankly out of the window as his thoughts spun down a different avenue. Foster had said something about a connection between people and the Gate. It was a glimmer of a hint, nothing more, but during the endless hours he and Al had spent poring over books, one name was always associated with that theory: Acontius, an alchemist in Cretia who died almost two hundred years ago.

His ideas weren't about the Philosopher's Stone, so they hadn't bothered to spare his works more than a glance, but now they could make all the difference to understanding what the hell Foster had done.

Folding up the sketch of the array and the notes, Ed stuffed them in his pocket as he hurried towards the door. He waved aside Havoc's reminder about the time. 'I need one book and then we can go,' he promised, turning down one of the aisles and skimming his way along the titles.

All around him the library was quiet. Only little sounds of human life interrupted the silence: the occasional cough, the rustle of pages and the tap of the librarians' shoes on the floor. On the other side of the bookshelf, someone muttered what sounded like a curse, and a book fell out of its place with a thump.

Ed ignored it, bending down to search the bottom shelf, pulling out a blank-covered tome to check it wasn't what he was looking for. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he glanced through the shelves to the other side, where a man in a rumpled uniform was scrabbling to pick up the fallen volume.

He almost looked away again, dismissing the sight as nothing out of the ordinary, but the scent of stale smoke was enough to make him hesitate long enough to catch sight of the man's face.

Foster.

Their gazes locked. For a moment, neither of them moved, too shocked by the other's presence to respond.

Ed dropped the book, lunging through the shelves to grab at the man's jacket. Foster stumbled back, mouth agape like a fish out of water as he scrabbled to get away.

'Fuck,' Ed spat, lurching to his feet and darting down the aisle. 'Havoc, stop him!'

The lieutenant yelled an order to halt, gun already drawn and taking aim, but Foster was quicker. He crashed his hands together and shoved them against the shelves, pouring energy into the wood until it shattered apart, sending splinters knifing through the air. People shouted in pain and anger, adding to the confusion, and Ed shoved past two horrified librarians, not hesitating to apologise as he sped after Foster.

His leg sang with pain, and a stitch was already starting up in his shoulder, painfully reminding himself that he was far from the peak of physical fitness. His head throbbed like a new bruise, filling his ears with the heavy beat of his pulse. Grimly, Ed tried to push through the discomfort and force his body onwards, but Foster was not going to be easy to catch. Every few paces he pulled down more shelves and books, desperate for anything to block the pursuit as he raced for the door.

'Boss, wait!' Jean called out from a few paces behind. 'We can't take him on by ourselves! We need backup!'

He didn't respond, bursting through the doors and leaping down the steps as Foster dodged amidst the pedestrians on the pavement. He'd already got away from them once, taking what he wanted and disappearing into Central's bustling depths.

Ed wasn't about to let him escape again.

 

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	7. Chapter 7

Roy stopped inside the small hallway of Foster's apartment, standing to one side to let Hughes and Breda through as he surveyed his surroundings. Plain and functional, it looked like the place had never been considered “home”. There were no family photographs, no pictures on the wall – not even a house plant.

'It's a minimum rent kind of place,' Hughes said. 'I think Foster had bigger things on his mind than comfortable living. He pays his bills in cash, and the landlord has no complaints about him.'

'People who are up to something often seem to be model citizens to the outsider. They're careful not to draw attention to themselves.' Roy flicked the light switch, letting the hazy glow chase away the gloom as he examined the apartment. There was a tiny bathroom, a bedroom, and a bigger living area with a kitchen attached.

Breda automatically moved to the fridge, checking its contents. He sniffed the milk before poking at the bread, making a thoughtful noise. 'He was probably last here a couple of days ago.' He jerked his head towards an empty bin. 'Took the trash out, and it looks like he tidied up the place. Either he's a neat freak or he wasn't sure he'd be coming back.'

'What exactly are we looking for?' Hughes asked, looking to Roy for answers. 'Something specific, or should we do a general sweep?'

'Anything that can help us to track him down, and anything related to alchemy. If he has notes on that array he created, it could give Ed the break he needs.' Roy absently checked his gloves before riffling through a small stack of paperwork, reading each scribbled note and hoping to find the bright beacon of a clue amidst the dross of Foster's life.

Of course, this was more Maes' area of expertise than his, but Roy found himself needing to know more about the man behind Ed's downfall. It was easy to say that the reasons behind Foster's actions were irrelevant, but they mattered to Roy. He needed to see more than a flat-faced villain; a small part of him hoped that, by knowing Ed's attacker, he would be a step closer to understanding the alchemy he had used.

He had told his men, speaking in calm, measured tones as he explained the true extent of what had happened to Ed last night. Their reactions had been much as he had expected: concern and confusion were foremost, but they were consummate professionals. They cared for Ed's welfare, and when one of their own was harmed, physically or otherwise, their response was always the same: unwavering dedication to putting things right.

Havoc had left first, swearing to keep both eyes firmly on Ed while he was studying the array. Most people would have sneered at the babysitting job, but the lieutenant knew that it was more of a challenge than an easy task. Hawkeye had departed shortly after, intent on getting an update on the pursuit and following any new leads. Fuery and Falman were staying in the office to handle the day-to-day military chores, while the rest of them came here hoping to find a breakthrough.

Roy grimaced, moving into the kitchen and rummaging through drawers. Cutlery glimmered like silver fish, and chipped, tired plates were stacked haphazardly. There was nothing here but the mundane, and he almost turned to go when a slip of paper on the fridge caught his eye.

It was a business card for Doctor Morraine: a psychologist, from the looks of it. The corners of the card were dog-eared, and there were smears of ink across its surface, as if it had been handled in sweaty palms. Tweaking it free from the magnet that held it in place, Roy slipped the card into his pocket. Foster's medical files had been unspectacular, but they had raised issues of doubtful mental health. Perhaps Doctor Morraine could help them understand who they were dealing with.

'Anything?' he asked as he walked back through to the living room, watching Hughes take books off the shelves and search their pages for loose sheaves or handwritten entries.

'Sorry, sir,' Breda replied, nudging the couch cushions back into place and pocketing the small change he had found. 'The only sign of life's a full ashtray on the windowsill. Everything else is practically untouched. There isn't even a dip in the cushions to show which side of the couch he sits on. Did he only just move in?'

'No,' Hughes replied, putting the last book back on the shelf and running a hand through his hair. 'He's been a tenant in this apartment for almost five years.'

'But he's hardly made a mark on the place!' Breda shifted in frustration and shook his head. 'It's not right. There should be rings on the coffee table, a scum line in the sink, something more than a few cigarette butts. No one is this neat.' He stepped forward, moving as if to go back to the bedroom for a second look. As soon as he did so, a floorboard gave a soft creak beneath his weight.

Breda stopped, looking down at the carpet before glancing at Roy. 'A loose plank?' he asked, raising his eyebrows before kneeling on the floor.

'It could be nothing,' Hughes reminded him. 'This building's old. It could just be warped.'

'Or it could be an easy place to stash things Foster didn't want to leave in plain sight.' Roy hunkered down next to Breda, yanking the glove off his left hand before running them over the carpet. There were no obvious cuts or seams, but there were knotted scars in the pile and smears of chalk, evidence that it had been transmuted whole again on a regular basis.

'Use this,' Maes said, holding out one of his push knives. It was wickedly sharp, and cut through the carpet easily to reveal the floorboards underneath. One had been sawn in half and the nails were gone, leaving it resting on its supports. 'Bingo.' Hughes pushed his glasses up his nose. 'That's one of the oldest tricks in the book.'

Roy nodded. 'It almost worked, though. We nearly missed it.' He craned his neck as Breda levered the plank free and slipped it aside, revealing a dusty hole filled with water pipes and, nestled in the grime, a few books.

'Most people use this kind of thing to hide money,' the sergeant muttered, reaching in and dragging them out. He brushed a hand over their covers before passing them to Roy. 'They're alchemy books, but why bother hiding them? They wouldn't have looked out of place on his shelves.'

A quick glance at the titles was enough to make Roy see why Foster had kept them out of sight, and a look inside the front cover confirmed his suspicions. 'These aren't standard texts: they're rare, restricted to military access only, and they're stolen. He must have got into the library and taken them without checking them out.' He turned one around so that Breda could read the spine. 'It's common knowledge that human transmutation is illegal. If you saw an alchemist with a book on how to practice it, would you stop to ask questions before calling the police?'

Hughes took them from him, flicking through the pages before putting them down on the coffee table. 'Alchemists make notes,' he said. 'When I shared a dorm with you, I could hardly move for the scraps of paper you left lying around, but there's none of that here. Unless he has a photographic memory, the books aren't much good to him hidden under the floor.'

A faint idea tickled Roy's mind, and he wandered over to the windowsill where Breda had seen the ashtray. There were cigarette butts, and lots of them. Foster had been chain-smoking; perhaps he'd been nervous. However, there were also one or two square corners amidst the ash, and a look at the street below the window showed a slick of grey charcoal.

'It looks like he burnt any notes he didn't need,' Roy explained. 'The books were too heavy to take with him, so he left them here.' He shrugged, turning back and looking around the bare room once more. 'He probably wanted to make sure no one else got their hands on them. Sergeant, take them back to the office. Ed'll want to see them. He should be back there by now.'

Breda nodded, collecting up the volumes and striding towards the door, exchanging a brief word with the soldiers in the corridor before he trotted down the stairs. Roy looked out of the window again, watching the stocky man cross the street and march the short distance towards headquarters.

'Do you want to tell me what you're worried about, or is that a stupid question?' Maes' inquisitive voice was gentle and edged with an intelligence which Roy had come to treat with caution over the years. 'Don't try and tell me it's work. Professional concerns make you short-tempered and stubborn. They don't make you like this.'

'Like what?' Roy asked absently, turning to watch his friend do one last sweep of the apartment.

'Tense – nervous. You keep fiddling with your gloves and folding your arms. You've made your lip bleed because you're chewing on it so much.'

Roy reached up, wincing as he swiped away a faint smear of red. The price of having a keenly observant friend was knowing that nothing could be hidden from him. Combine that with Hughes' unwavering curiosity, and nothing, no feeling or thought, was sacred. 'Foster's actions could have serious consequences for alchemists all over Amestris, State certified or not,' He stared out at the street for a moment before bowing his head. 'but it's the effect it's had on Ed that's bothering me.'

Maes paused, nodding his head in understanding. 'He's not accepting what's happened to him. Before you came bursting out of your office this morning – and don't think I didn't notice your less-than-professional concern, by the way – I was asking him how he was doing.'

'Did you get a straight answer?' Roy asked, not bothering to keep the doubt out of his voice.

'Of course not. This is Ed we're talking about.' Hughes opened a drawer in the desk and rifled through a few papers before shutting it again. 'He's adamant that the situation is temporary – that it's something that can be undone.'

'He was the same with getting Al's body back, and he was right. It was possible,' Roy pointed out, leaning back against the wall. 'I've got to admit, though, I don't share his faith. When it came to searching for the Stone, there was almost nothing that Ed wouldn't do. This time it's different, it's about him, not Alphonse. I don't know what worries me more: the lengths he might go to in order to get his alchemy back, or the fact that he might fail. Ed without alchemy is –' He floundered, at a loss for words.

Maes looked around the apartment before focussing on Roy, his expression utterly serious. 'It's unthinkable. At least, that's how he sees it. I don't think he can even acknowledge the possibility that he might not be able to retrieve what Foster took from him.'

'Maybe that's for the best,' Roy replied. 'Everyone has their way of coping with disaster; perhaps this is Fullmetal's way of dealing with things.'

Hughes looked dubious. 'Possibly, but that doesn't change the fact that we have to be prepared for the worst. If it comes to light that Ed can never do alchemy again, then we have to know what to do to protect him.' He pushed his glasses up his nose, and the light gleamed off of the lenses as he met Roy's gaze. 'Ed's spent all of his formative years building his universe around two things: alchemy and Alphonse. His brother might not desert him, but everyone grows up. Al's already taking steps towards his independence. I don't know how Ed would deal without his alchemy if it's permanent.'

Roy sighed, looking down at the cheap, bland carpet as he absorbed Hughes' words. He was right, as always. Part of being a good officer was planning for every contingency, even those that he would rather not acknowledge. They needed to make sure that they could hide this from the military for as long as necessary, be it a month, a year, or a lifetime. 'I'll put something together,' he said quietly, his mind already racing with the logistics.

'It's about more than getting him out of the army before they realise what's happening, Roy. It's about preparing for his reactions, too. We have no basis to go on, but I don't think it would be something that Ed could take in his stride.' Maes rubbed at his stubble. 'You know what happens when someone thinks they've lost everything. You know what they do to try and feel alive again, and you know where it can lead.'

Roy swallowed the lump in his throat. Of course he knew. Human coping mechanisms were predictable, and he'd tried almost all of them over the years. The aim was to lose yourself, be it in drink, drugs, or other people. When they didn't work, when the world turned from shades of grey to black and there was no light to guide the way, people gave up.

Maybe they picked up a gun and pulled the trigger on themselves, or took too much of something from the medicine cabinet. Sometimes there was no conscious decision to end it; people simply stopped caring about themselves and the shell of flesh and bone that encapsulated their existence. The next breath didn't matter, and the end result was the same – an epitaph and a rain-soaked grave.

'He won't do that, not while Alphonse is still around.' The crack in Roy's voice went ignored as he straightened up, cutting off whatever Hughes was going to say with a chop of his hand. 'Maes, _we_ won't let that happen. Having nothing left to live for means having no friends to drag you out of the dark. Ed'll never be in that position. He has us.'

'He has you.'

Hughes' soft words took him by surprise, calming the storm of thoughts in his mind to a blank pool of uncertainty. Maes said it like his presence mattered to Ed, as if he thought Fullmetal might respond to Roy when he turned his back on everyone else. At any other time, Roy would have ignored his friend's words, but Hughes saw things that others overlooked. Had he noticed something in Ed's behaviour that Roy hadn't?

Before Roy could open his mouth to ask his questions, voices in the corridor cut him off. Hawkeye was speaking quickly, giving out orders in tones shot through with urgency. Her footsteps were marching closer, and he heard the door to the apartment open before she appeared at the threshold.

'Sir, there's been a situation at the library,' she explained, speaking around quickened breaths from running up the stairs. 'Havoc and Ed bumped into Foster.'

Roy swore viciously, his body buzzing as adrenaline surged through his blood. He didn't bother to check if Hughes was keeping up with him as he strode across the room, following the lieutenant's lead as they hurried out and down the stairs. 'Are they all right?'

'They're in pursuit, sir.'

That was a tactful way of saying that Ed had taken off after Foster, probably without any thought for his personal safety. 'Do they have backup?' he asked, trying to get an idea of what they could be up against.

Hawkeye nodded, but it was a slow movement, as if she wasn't sure what good it would do them. 'Foster destroyed parts of the library and caused several casualties. Havoc took command of a few soldiers at the scene; they're with him now.'

'The question is, is Havoc still with Ed?' Roy pushed his way out in the street, his stomach clenching tight as he realised he had no idea where he was going. 'Do we know where Foster's heading?'

'Roy.' Hughes' hand on his shoulder was enough to bring him up short, and he turned to look at his friend who jerked his head towards a payphone. 'Give me one minute before you start tearing the city apart. I ordered a few men to keep an eye on Ed whenever he wasn't in the office. They'll be able to tell us exactly where they are.'

It was the sensible choice, and Roy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for Maes to do his job. Dozens of scenarios raced through his mind, each as horrific as the last, and he scraped his thumb and middle-finger together, listening to the comforting rasp of his gloves. He'd sent Ed to the library to keep him safe; he should have realised that was a useless endeavour. Ed was a beacon for trouble. The only way to protect him was to have him leashed to Roy's side and, as tempting as that was, it wasn't exactly a practical solution.

Hawkeye pulled the car keys out of her pocket, slipping into the driver's seat and starting the engine as Hughes finished his call and hurried over, clambering in the back seat as Roy sat at Riza's side. 'There's an old commercial lab on the west side of town. It's been dis-used for a couple of years. Foster was last seen entering the main building.'

'What about Ed and Havoc?'

'Havoc's doing it by the book: setting up a perimeter, making sure that Foster's not going to get away and checking that we can evacuate the nearby residential areas if necessary. Ed's prowling like a caged tiger and swearing. We don't have long before his patience runs out.'

'It's a miracle Havoc could talk some sense him into the first place,' Roy said, looking over his shoulder as Hughes gave a dry laugh. 'What?'

'Apparently, he ordered some of the lower-ranking soldiers to sit on Ed if he tried to go in, Major or not. I'd pay good money to see them try!'

Roy smiled despite himself. At least Havoc had the sense to put someone else in the path of Ed's rage, rather than take on that duty himself.

Turning his eyes back to the road ahead, he watched the scenery skim past as Hawkeye steered the car through the streets towards the laboratory. He knew the one Hughes spoke of. It had been in the centre of a scandal a few years ago, something to do with human test subjects, although no one was quite sure what they had been making. One morning the headlines were blaring their accusations and by dawn the next day the place was deserted.

Police had been searching for the corporation behind it, but all ties had been severed. There was no one to hold responsible. Only the building remained as testament, and precisely what had happened within its walls was still unknown, no more substantial than misty rumour. Why would Foster go there?

By the time Hawkeye pulled up outside the lab, Roy was still no closer to finding any answers. He climbed out of the car, barely waiting until the door had shut behind him before calling out to Havoc, 'Report, Lieutenant!'

Havoc saluted, speaking in the quick, concise way of a man who knew that every second mattered. 'I've got as many men as possible stationed around the fence. He won't be able to get out that way without someone noticing, but we don't know the layout of the building. There might be basements and passageways we're not aware of.'

'What about the blueprints?'

'They were never filed, sir. We don't have any plans to work from. If we're going to drag Foster out, then we're going to have to go in blind.'

'And you're going to have to hurry up and make up your fucking mind,' Ed added. He was standing by the gates, looking through the bars at the building like a cat who knew where to find a mouse. 'The longer he's in there, the more time he has to hide. You can see from the outside that it's a maze. None of the windows are level, and there are plenty of doors. He could stay one step ahead of us and we'd never catch him.'

Roy followed his line of sight, realising he was right. At first glance the building looked normal enough, but on closer examination there were strange inconsistencies in its design. Small squares of glass were dotted along the walls, giving the impression of four floors in a two storey space, and there were twists in the brickwork, as if there was nothing so straight-forward as rooms and corridors within.

Quickly, he looked around at the dozen-or-so soldiers who still remained, piecing together a strategy as he tried to think of the best way to proceed. 'You,' He pointed to the youngest soldier, 'go back to Central Command and inform General Heath that we've found Foster. He wanted to be kept informed, and we could use his authority. The rest of us will split into two groups and search the place. Hughes, Havoc, take six men and head for the west side. Hawkeye and I will take the others and check the east wing.'

'What about me?' Ed asked darkly, his eyes narrowed as if he already knew what Roy was going to say.

'Stay here and wait for Breda,' Roy ordered, keeping his expression blank as he saw the anger whip across Ed's face. 'You're vulnerable; we need to concentrate on searching for Foster, and we can't watch out for you at the same time. You'll be safe out here.'

Ed's jaw was clenched tight, and Roy fully expected a deluge of abuse in response to his command. Instead, Ed took a deep breath, moving closer until he was toe-to-toe before he hissed. 'What if he gets away from you and Breda's not here yet? Who'll protect me then, if I'm so fucking defenceless?'

Roy hesitated, swallowing back his automatic denial. It was tempting, even now, to underestimate Foster, but Ed had a point. The man had a brain and could put it to use. If he was after Ed, then he could be waiting for his opportunity to strike. Besides, Roy recognised the look in Ed's eye. His orders meant nothing. Ed would go inside with or without his permission. At least if he was with them, then Roy knew where he was and exactly what trouble he was getting himself into.

'If you wander off, I'll tie you to a desk in the office and never let you go again,' he warned, frowning as Ed rolled his eyes. 'This isn't a game, Fullmetal. It's not only your life that could be at risk. If you do something stupid and someone is hurt or killed because they were trying to protect you, you'll never forgive yourself. Follow orders, do I make myself clear?'

Eventually, Ed gave a silent nod, his gaze wary but far from defeated. It put Roy's teeth on edge, and the dread in his gut grew into a living thing, thrashing with fear. His instincts were on high-alert, shrilling their alarms. He didn't like any of this, not Foster's choice of hiding place nor Ed's presence. He had spent years watching Fullmetal go from one explosive assignment to another, and he knew that Ed was never going to stand on the sidelines while everyone else waded into the fray.

How the hell was Roy meant to keep him safe?

With a sigh, he nodded a farewell to Hughes, and the two groups went their separate ways, heading to different ends of the building. It had probably been cared for once, but now the white paint was grubby and tiles had fallen off the roof. The whole place was silent, and Roy crept up the steps towards the door. It wasn't locked, and he felt comforted by Hawkeye's presence at his side as he slipped into the gloomy hallway beyond.

Someone reached for the light switch, but nothing happened when they flicked it. The power had probably been cut off when the bills stopped being paid, and only second-hand daylight did anything to define the shadows. There were cobwebs around the hanging lights, and a thick patina of grime covered every window. There was a reception desk, still covered in papers and pens, as if the person staffing it had simply got up and run. Dust smothered everything, and Roy wrinkled his nose against the urge to sneeze.

'He's been here before,' Ed whispered, pointing to the floor.

Roy looked down at the patterned tiles. They were a far cry from the cheap, institutional décor he expected, but it still took him a few seconds to realise what Ed had noticed. 'They're clean.' He glanced along the corridors that stretched out to the left and right of them. 'He's swept the floors?'

'It's a smart move, sir,' Hawkeye said quietly. 'He's must have chosen this building as a refuge in advance, and he's made sure we don't have a trail to follow.'

Roy grunted. 'It won't be enough to protect him, Lieutenant. This way.' He turned left along the corridor, making silent motions with his hands to instruct the other soldiers to fan out. There were doorways on each side, and every room had to be searched. One after the other, the men did as they were told, always reporting the same thing. These were empty offices: there was nothing in any of them but abandoned paperwork.

'He could be anywhere,' Ed murmured as they reached the end of the corridor and came across another fork. One route sloped up while the other carried onwards. 'We could have a hundred men and still not find him.'

Peering around another door, Roy relaxed his tense fingers, looking around the deserted lab in irritation. There were broken bits of test-tube on the work-benches, and a silent refrigeration unit stood in the corner, disused and half-open. Nothing looked ominous; there was no evidence that Foster had even set foot in here.

He didn't like it. There were too many conflicting signals coming from their quarry. Was he panicky and disorganised, or logical and prepared? This was obviously more than an opportune hiding place, but had he set it up as a stronghold, or was it simply a roof over his head when he wanted to get away from the world?

'What was he like in the library?' Roy asked. 'Was he surprised to see you, or had he been hunting you down?'

'He nearly pissed himself.' Ed snorted in annoyance. 'I dunno who was more shocked, me or him. He wasn't expecting to get caught; he panicked and ran.'

'Good.' Roy glanced towards the slope to the upper floor before turning and heading downwards instead. 'Foster was frightened. People who are scared don't think logically,' he explained. 'He'll look for somewhere sheltered on all sides rather than potentially cut off all his escape routes by heading for the roof.'

It was getting steadily darker as they moved towards the building's core, and Roy snapped his fingers, shielding the flame behind the curve of his palm as he let it shed just enough light so they could see where they were going. There were fewer doors here, allowing them to move more quickly as they checked each room.

There were storage cupboards, staff rooms, switchboards: the little, necessary spaces that kept a business running from day-to-day. All of them were in the same state of abandoned disarray – eerie and strange, and Roy swallowed nervously as the silence pressed down on his ears.

Up ahead, a sergeant scanned the last room before the passageway turned a blind corner. The muzzle of his gun twitched at every unknown, and Roy could tell that all of the men were tense and alert, their imaginations fed by the stories about what had happened here. They knew they were looking for an alchemist but, in the back of their minds, monsters hid behind every door.

The rustle of paper and clatter of claws made Roy jerk his head, and he flinched as the sergeant's gun barked out a decisive, fatal shot. The pale-faced man swore, sweat beading his upper lip as he realised he'd just turned a rat to nothing but a red smear on the floor. 'Sorry, sir,' he murmured, cuffing at his forehead with the back of his hand. 'Bastard took me by surprise.'

In the distance, a door slammed back against the wall, and the patter of running footsteps echoed back to them, fading fast. Instantly, Roy broke into a sprint, not surprised when Ed kept pace at his side. The others sped along behind as stealth was abandoned in favour of speed, and their bootsteps thundered along the narrow corridor, charting each twist and turn.

'That way!' Ed shouted as they came to a junction, pointing down to the left as the corner of a blue jacket disappeared out of sight. 'He's wearing military uniform, but he's the only soldier by himself.'

'Look before you shoot,' Roy ordered the men. 'Make sure you've got the right person. We don't want to lose anyone to friendly fire. One of the others might have become separated from their group.' He skidded around the corner and carried on, fingers tensed to snap as he tried to see every possible threat and watch where he was going at the same time.

Ahead he saw Foster stop, spinning around to stare at them. His eyes were wide and his hair was everywhere. Each breath made the man's chest heave, but Roy was focussed on his hands. They were held a few inches apart and, before anyone could react, he clapped his palms together and slammed them outwards, one to each wall of the passageway.

Light stabbed forward, chasing itself in a tangle of jagged lines as heat blistered the air. A low note grumbled through the building, starting low and climbing to an ear-splitting roar as plaster cracked and the floor sank and twisted. Massive flaws yawned in the stonework, climbing upwards and across the ceiling as beams groaned and gave up beneath the onslaught of alchemy.

Something slammed into Roy's side, pushing him against the wall and holding him there as the world came crashing down. He shut his eyes, every sense overwhelmed with the cacophony of destruction. It filled his ears with its din and coated his tongue with the taste of grit. Every nerve was waiting for a bloom of pain, but none came. Gradually, the noise faded, going from a wall of sound to the occasional crack and sigh of debris until, finally, the air fell quiet.

Roy opened his eyes and looked down at Ed. He'd pushed him out of the way of the falling ceiling, and Roy's arms had instinctively cradled his lithe body. One was around Ed's waist, holding him close, while the other cupped his head in a futile shield.

He could feel the thrash of Ed's heart against his chest and the whisper of his breath against the skin at his collar. The fragrance of sweat and leather filled every breath, and the firm, tense lines of Ed's body pressed against Roy's, solid, warm and real.

'Are you all right?' he asked, licking dry lips as he brushed his gloved-palm down Ed's dusty hair before moving it away and snapping his fingers, rekindling a tiny beacon of light in the palm of his hand. An unsteady glow ghosted up the ruined walls, and falling dust sizzled in the flames. 'Did you get hit?'

Ed shook his head, stepping back enough to look up into Roy's face. They were both covered in grime, but there was no blood that Roy could see and no bruises stained his skin. 'I'm fine,' Ed replied, his vivid eyes searching Roy's expression. 'What about you? Half the building almost fell on your head.'

'It missed.' Roy realised his fingers was still curved over Ed's hip, holding him possessively in place, and he let his hand fall to his side as he cleared his throat. 'Thank you.'

Before Ed could reply, Hawkeye's voice reached their ears, desperate with anger and a healthy dose of fear. 'Sir? Edward? Can you hear me?'

Roy looked back the way they had come, seeing a slew of jagged masonry and splintered desks, tumbled bookcases and leaking pipes. The corridor was completely blocked, clogged with the detritus of the collapse. 'We're all right, Lieutenant,' he called out, pushing himself away from the wall and picking his way carefully to the wall of debris. 'Are there any casualties on your side?'

'Nothing serious, sir. Are you -' The sound of shifting stone interrupted Hawkeye's question, and Roy backed away from the pile of rubble, stretching his arm out to urge Ed back as more stone and grit rattled down. A few seconds later, everything fell still and Riza carried on, her voice tight with growing uncertainty. 'Are you trapped, or can you and Edward find another way out?'

Roy looked over his shoulder at the dark corridor. There was no sign of Foster. Only the cracks in the wall suggested he'd ever been there in the first place. The plaster was twisted as if it had been super-heated, but it seemed stable enough. 'We can keep going. Take the men and get back to Hughes and Havoc. As soon as you've found them, get out of here. Ed and I will join you as soon as we can.'

'What about Foster, sir?'

It was a hard call, and Roy glanced back at Ed, making sure that the younger man was included in his words. 'If you see him, attempt to take him into custody, but don't put your own life at risk. Getting safely out of the building takes top priority.'

'Yes, sir,' Hawkeye acknowledged. 'Be careful.'

'You too, Lieutenant. We'll meet you outside.' Roy smiled as Hawkeye began giving orders to the remaining soldiers, warning them all to be vigilant as they began their retreat. No doubt they would meet up with Hughes and Havoc soon. If the east wing hadn't been affected by the collapse, then the noise would have alerted the other team to the catastrophe and they would already be heading their way.

'It looks like it's just you and me,' Roy told Ed, checking the arrays on his gloves before reaching for the gun holstered on his hip. 'Take this.'

Ed looked at the weapon like it was a live snake, visibly repulsed. 'No, there's no point!' His gaze flickered as he crossed his arms and muttered, 'I don't know how to use it.'

'Foster isn't aware of that,' Roy pointed out, grabbing Ed's wrist and pressing the revolver into his palm. 'As far as he's concerned, you're as good as Hawkeye. It takes either a very brave or very stupid man not to hesitate when there's a gun pointed at his head.' He bit his lip, adding gently. 'Ed, I need my hands free for alchemy. If you could do it instead, I'd let you, but you can't. Please?'

For a while, Ed said nothing. His reluctance was clear but, finally, he nodded, shifting his grip to hold the butt of the gun. Roy didn't miss the fact that he kept the muzzle pointed at the shattered ceiling, at ease but ready to take aim if he had to. The safety was still on, but Ed's thumb was right next to it, ready to pull it back if necessary.

'For someone who doesn't know how to use a gun, you're doing a good job of holding it right,' he said, making sure that Ed was at his side as he began to pick his way further along the corridor. The tiles were shattered, and soft sighs echoed through the walls around them. It wasn't exactly the safest way forward, but it was their only choice.

'I've seen Hawkeye and Havoc in action enough times to know which end's which,' Ed replied. 'Doesn't mean I can hit anything, though.'

'Hopefully it won't come to that.' Roy skirted around a chunk of fallen rubble before pressing himself against the wall to peer around the corner. 'I meant what I said. Our main aim is to get out of here.'

Ed said nothing, and Roy allowed the silence to grow between them as he searched for any threat amid the shadowy gloom. Rounding another turn, he frowned at the pile of debris that blocked the way forward. One of the walls had collapsed, leaving a hole into the dark space beyond. It looked like a hidden cavity but, as Roy approached, he realised it was an old doorway that had been bricked in. Beyond it was another passage, straight and narrow like a wound.

Stepping through, he glanced around, barely able to see more than a few feet in front of him. There were no windows here to let light through, but he didn't dare brighten the flame in his hand too much in case he made a target of himself.

'Listen!'

Roy froze, his breath locked in his chest as he strained his ears to catch the echoes of sound. It wasn't much but, in the distance, he heard the squeak of metal hinges and the “clang” of a heavy door swinging shut. The sound echoed in the space ahead of them, and Roy took a deep breath as he realised they had no choice but to carry on.

'This way,' he said quietly, grabbing Ed's elbow to stop him bolting away into the darkness. 'Be careful, it could be a trap.'

It took them a couple of minutes to reach the end of the strange passageway. It sloped and twisted, leaving Roy completely disoriented, before finally coming to a halt in front of a massive door. It looked like something that belonged in a bank vault rather than a lab, and Roy frowned at the smooth metal surface.

There was a plate that hid the locking mechanism, but no keyhole. Not that it mattered, alchemists didn't need keys. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a stub of chalk, drawing out the design and checking it over before he extinguished the flame in his left palm and pressed his fingertips to the circumference.

Almost immediately, the metal began to glow and buckle, twisting beneath the heat that blazed in the centre of the array. It blistered its way through the outer surface before turning the lock tumblers to nothing but sludge. The bolt slumped in its socket, parting from the door-frame, and a quick pull was enough to reveal the room beyond.

He wasn't sure what he had expected: a bunker of some kind, perhaps. Not this. The room was several storeys tall, filled with maintenance gantries and platforms. Emergency lights pocked the distant ceiling and charted pathways across the floor. Roy didn't know how they were powered, but they still worked, giving the hulking shadows definition. Huge water tanks dotted the floor, and a labyrinth of pipes twisted down from the ceiling.

'What the hell?' Ed whispered. 'What is this place?'

Roy shook his head, holding up a hand as he heard the clatter of footsteps on metal. Staring around, he saw a moving shape scrambling up the steel steps and heading towards the higher levels. Before he could say anything, Ed had followed his gaze and had lunged into a sprint, forgetting all about finding a way out in his pursuit of Foster.

'Damn it!' Roy hissed, hurrying after Fullmetal. He should have known Ed wouldn't willingly let Foster slip away from them again, but didn't he realise that their situation was far from ideal? They were in unfamiliar territory without backup, and Foster had already proven himself to be a serious threat. His unpredictability alone made him a tricky adversary.

Suddenly, Ed stopped, skidding to a halt as he looked around in confusion. The gun was still in his right hand, but it was no longer poised and ready. Instead it was held in loose fingers, as if he'd forgotten all about the weapon in his grasp. Bright eyes were scanning the silent shadows, hovering on the dark places between storage tanks and the giant arteries of pipes.

Roy saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't have time to shout a warning before Foster slammed all his weight down on Ed's right arm, pushing him away. The gun clattered on the floor as Ed's face twisted in a mixture of pain and fury, and his boots chimed on the metal grill as he stumbled back, clutching at his shoulder.

With a sharp snap, Roy sent a lance of flame burning through the air, blocking Foster before he could attack Ed a second time. The fire lit the room, chasing away the gloom and shining off of warning notices pinned to the tanks. Roy's heart climbed into his throat, thrashing with panic, and he extinguished the flame immediately, choking it to death as he realised that there was nothing as mundane in the containers as water.

Foster made a sound, a trickle of half-hysterical laughter. The weak emergency lights shone in his eyes, and a grin twitched into place. 'What's wrong?' he asked, moving with odd, jerky steps as his gaze flickered from Ed to Roy and back again. 'Didn't you know?'

'Know what?' Ed snapped, rolling his shoulder before dropping his hands to his sides, his hands curled into fists as he watched Foster.

'The tanks are full of some kind of toxic gas,' Roy muttered. 'It's stored under pressure. I can't ignite a flame in here; it could blow the place apart and spread it all over the city.' A trickle of sweat ran down Roy's temple, and he took a breath of the dense, humid air as he tried to think of some kind of plan.

'The building's surrounded, Foster. Why don't you come peacefully?' he asked. If he could just keep him talking, perhaps he could buy Ed some time.

The man cocked his head, his eyes going distant as if he was trying to puzzle through Roy's words. Behind him, Ed inched sideways, moving towards the gun one slow step at a time. Before he'd gone more than three paces, Foster jerked awake again.

His lips parted in a snarl as he lunged for Ed, staggering clumsily over the metal grating. Ed jerked back, yanking his body gracelessly out of Foster's reach. His face was pale with pain, and Roy noticed that he was still holding his arm awkwardly at his side. All Ed could do right now was cause a distraction. It was up to Roy to get them out of this mess.

He leapt forward, hoping to do something to neutralise the threat, but he wasn't fast enough. Foster switched direction, rolling on his shoulder and snatching the gun from the floor.

Instantly, his eyes became lucid, flat and emotionless as he pointed the gun at Ed's chest and pulled back the safety hammer. Roy froze, locked by indecision and fear. Was it better to try and negotiate, to buy them more time, or should he try to disarm the alchemist and hope he didn't have time to pull the trigger? Normally, he wouldn't think twice, but it wasn't just anyone in the firing line, it was Ed.

'What's he still doing here, General?' Foster asked. 'Don't you know you're meant to kill the runts?'

Ed twitched in anger, but he didn't move. If he had an idea of how to get himself out of Foster's sights, then he wasn't giving anything away. He simply stood there, waiting, and Roy had to hope that he was choosing his moment, rather than giving up the fight.

'Put the gun down, Foster,' Roy ordered, his gloves rasping softly as he took a step forward. 'It doesn't have to be like this.'

'Yes it does,' Foster said quietly, never taking his eyes off Ed. 'As long as he's alive, he'll have what I want. He'll be a state alchemist, even when he can't transmute! I should have seen it before. Should have known you'd be blinded by the way you feel about him!'

The gun wavered for a second, but it didn't fall. Instead it lifted from Ed's chest to point at the spot between his eyes. Roy's heart screamed in his chest as his stomach went cold and hollow. It didn't matter if Foster was a good shot or not. From this distance, he couldn't miss.

'Sorry, general,' Foster replied as his finger tightened on the trigger. 'He's got to go.'


	8. Chapter 8

Ed's mouth was like a desert, parched by every shallow breath. Sweat prickled his hairline, and his arm ached where Foster had slammed into him. He didn't dare move, not with a gun pointed at his head, but that didn't mean he wasn't ready to leap at the first opportunity. His body sang with adrenaline, and his muscles shook, waiting to take advantage of any chance that came his way.

If he still had his alchemy, then none of this would be happening. Ed knew that if he could transmute, then he could take Foster down in seconds and end this. Instead it turned out Roy was right: he was helpless, and there was nothing he could do to defend himself from being shot except pray that the fucker missed.

'Sorry, general. He's got to go.'

Everything happened too quickly for Ed to follow. One second Foster's finger was tightening on the trigger, the next, Roy had rammed into the man's side, his gloved fingers tight around Foster's wrist as he forced the muzzle towards the ceiling. The shot cracked through the air, ricocheting off of the metal tank next to Ed's face with a shower of sparks before it span away into the gloom.

Foster was panicking, clinging onto the gun and forgetting about his alchemy as Roy overpowered him inch-by-inch, forcing him to the ground and wresting the revolver from his grip.

'Keep your hands apart where I can see them,' Roy ordered, his voice fierce. 'On your knees. If you even twitch, I'll kill you.' He didn't look up as Ed neared his side, didn't dare take his eyes from Foster's supplicant form, but his voice softened with concern as he asked, 'Are you all right?'

Ed blinked, cuffing at the sweat on his face as his stomach writhed with dark emotion. It should have been an easy question, but his voice felt clumsy on his tongue, locked up by sick self-loathing. He'd done nothing to save himself - nothing to help Roy take down Foster... . For the first time since he was a little kid, his courage had abandoned him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this worthless.

'Ed?'

The fear in Roy's voice was enough to drag a response out of him, and he managed to croak, 'Yeah, thanks. Are you?'

'He wasn't aiming at me.' Mustang's face was chalky pale. Only his anger gave any colour to his skin, and Ed could see the older man's finger pressing gently against the trigger. He wasn't fooling around, and it seemed like even Foster knew that. The alchemist was statue-still, his eyes vacant as his lips moved, shaping voiceless words that weren't meant to be heard.

'We need to find a way out.' Roy pressed his lips together, no doubt considering the few options that were left open to them. 'The way we came is completely blocked off, but there might be another door here somewhere. You go and –'

The scream of a siren cut through the air, shrill and deafening. It made Roy flinch, and Ed cringed away from the auditory bombardment, shouting a warning that Roy couldn't hear as Foster lunged to his feet. In an instant the man was gone, darting away into the darkness. He ran in fear, clumsy but fast, not even glancing over his shoulder as he sped away.

Roy's lips moved as he spat a curse that Ed didn't catch. For a second, it looked like he was considering trying to take Foster down but, slowly, he lowered the gun and turned to look for the source of the racket that drowned them both with its cries.

'What the fuck's going on?' Ed yelled, catching Mustang's sleeve and pulling him nearer. His lips were almost close enough to brush against the shell of Roy's ear as he shouted, 'A fire?'  
  
Roy shook his head, his dark eyes glancing back towards the tank that Ed had been standing near when Foster had pulled the trigger. Following his gaze, Ed saw the dent where the bullet had struck the metal. Hairline cracks radiated through the surface, and a ghostly wisp of gas hissed into the air, falling to drift over the floor like heavy mist.

Instantly, fear shot through him. He grabbed Roy's wrist, breaking into a sprint as he dragged the older man after him. Roy had said that the massive canisters held some kind of toxic gas, and Ed wasn't about to stand around and become the first victim of the lab owner's poisonous legacy.

The small lights in the floor guttered and dimmed, some dying entirely while others changed colour. The darkness took on a hellish, ruddy quality as a trail of red stars picked out a path through the tanks. It led up one of the gantries, climbing towards the ceiling.

'An emergency exit!' Roy shouted, barely audible over the continuing cry of the claxon. 'Whoever owned this place didn't want to lose their staff in a leak. There'll be another way out!' His hand shifted in Ed's grip, forcing him to change direction as they raced up the stairs two at a time.

It was too dark to see properly, but Ed's other senses were on full-alert. He could hear the chime of Roy's boots on the steps, as well as the distant, echoing clanks of the storage tanks. Every breath tasted of chemicals, and his aching head was getting worse. How was he meant to run when each hasty lungful of air could be killing him?

On top of that, Foster was still in here somewhere. Any sane person would be doing the same as them: running for the door and praying for escape, but Ed had seen enough of the alchemist's behaviour to know that he wasn't a prime example of good mental health. For all they knew he could be lurking around the next corner, hands pressed together and stolen alchemy flaring between his fingertips, waiting for his chance to bring them both crashing down.

Ed blinked, trying to focus on the gleam of light off steel and the warm, solid presence of Roy's body one step ahead of him. This wasn't the time to give into the creeping fears of his imagination. He'd been in worse situations than this: thicker darkness, certain death, and he'd still come out of them in one piece. Did losing his alchemy really change him so much from the boy who had survived all that?

'This way!'

Ed shook aside the circling questions, following Roy without hesitation. His left leg was starting to ache with flashing needles of pain, and his knee felt stiff and clumsy. Grimly, he carried on, trying to ignore it as they turned another corner. The platform creaked and groaned beneath their weight as they rushed along it before launching themselves up another set of stairs.

In the distance, glowing like a white beacon, was a patch of daylight. It flowed in through a small window in the thick, metal door, glistening its promises off of the gantry.

Off to the left, something moved, and another wave of adrenaline surged through Ed's body as he saw Foster stagger to the top of a different set of stairs. Either he couldn't hear them over the siren, or he didn't care about their presence, because he ignored them completely as he hurled himself at the door, shoving his way outside.

He didn't slam it after him or turn to lock them in, and a frisson of uncertainty worked its way down Ed's spine. Even frightened people had the sense to try and trap or stall whatever was pursuing them. Was Foster really so far gone that he was beyond the reach of even his basic instincts?

Roy must have had the same thought, because he brought the gun up as he ran forward, pointing it into the dazzling square of daylight as the two of them burst across the threshold. Automatically, Ed reached back, yanking the door closed after them. It wouldn't be enough to seal in whatever was leaking down there, but it was better than nothing.

After the murk of the underground room, the sunlight was painfully bright. Ed blinked, trying to clear his vision as the cold air scratched at his face. He put a hand up to shield his eyes and, as soon as he did, he realised why Foster hadn't tried to shut them in.  
Soldiers surrounded their position. Some were poised with their weapons ready to fire while others hurried this way and that, taking orders as the faint cry of the alarm echoed across the grounds.

Hawkeye had her revolver pressed to Foster's temple, and Breda had driven the man to his knees, fastening his thin wrists in stocks so he couldn't clap his hands together and activate any arrays. A short distance away, Hughes was talking to a general Ed hadn't seen before. Maes' face was tight with anxiety but, as soon as he saw them both, some of it ebbed away, softening his expression with relief.

Before Hughes could say a word, the general looked their way, his voice carrying easily over the distance as he called out, 'Brigadier-General Mustang, report!'

Ed glanced over to see the familiar mask of command slip neatly over Roy's features. He holstered his gun and strode across the intervening space towards the officer. His movements were quick, but calm, and Ed hesitated before following him, watching him salute the unknown general before talking in quiet tones.

'General Heath, we have a situation.' Roy glanced towards the soldiers, and Ed realised he was trying not to cause panic among the men. 'During pursuit, Foster led myself and Major Elric under the lab. There's a room filled with tanks that seem to contain some kind of dangerous biological agent. One was punctured by a ricocheting bullet and began to leak. We need to evacuate the surrounding residential area immediately.'

Ed thought the man would ask stupid questions, and he was surprised when the general lifted his voice to carry over the chatter of his men and Foster's gabbled protests of innocence. 'Williams, initiate evacuation plans immediately! Jones, get back to headquarters and find Colonel Bellamy and his team. Everyone else, move back to a safe distance!'

He lowered his voice, turning to Mustang as he spoke. 'Bellamy's been investigating this place for years; he had his suspicions about what they made here and has been in charge of putting together plans to neutralise any problem. He should know how to deal with this.'

Heath was already turning away, beckoning Roy to follow him. 'I'm assuming that you and Major Elric may have been exposed to whatever is down there?' His tone made it a question, and Ed's spine tightened distrustfully. Where was he going with this?

'Yes, sir, as was Foster.' Roy met Ed's gaze with a brief look that communicated everything: stay quiet, let him do the talking. No one in the military, no matter how friendly, could ever be completely trusted. 'However, we were some distance from the source of the leak when the sirens went off.'

'Nevertheless, Mustang, for the sake of your health and that of Central's citizens, we have to consider all possibilities. We have no way of knowing the precise nature of what was in those tanks, yet. I'm putting you, the major and the prisoner in quarantine, in case it's a contagious agent.'

Ed stiffened, clenching his hands inside his gloves as his mind raced with panic. Quarantine meant nurses, doctors, needles and pain. More than that, how was he meant to hide the truth about his arm and leg if he was under constant medical observation?

'What about you?' he asked, adding a grudging 'Sir?' when Heath looked over his shoulder in surprise. 'If it's contagious, then it may have already spread from us to you and any men that got within five feet of us. The same with Foster. Anyone who even touched him could be at risk. Do you have the space to quarantine all of us?'

He was hoping that Heath would say no, but the general's shoulders stiffened and he nodded in approval. 'Good thinking, Major. I'll begin procedures immediately.' The only sign of the man's anxiety was the bleached out wash to his tanned face, and he gestured quickly to one of the cars. 'I'll have one of your men drive you to the medical wing of headquarters, Mustang. We have facilities there for quarantine.'

The look on Roy's face was incomprehensible to Ed, but he didn't miss the bright spark of intelligence in Mustang's eyes as his fast mind worked. 'Sir, because of the intricacies of his automail, Fullmetal has his own doctor: a man called Wallis. He's very insistent that he be the only one to treat the Major.'

It was a smooth lie, and Ed glanced at Roy's profile. Deceiving a commanding officer was dangerous, but Mustang hadn't even hesitated – all for Ed's benefit. It didn't make any sense. What was Roy getting out of this? How was making sure that Ed got to stay in the military doing him any good? Wouldn't it be easier to have him discharged for medical reasons and leave it at that?

The questions continued to careen around Ed's mind as General Heath nodded his agreement, too distracted by concerns of contamination to question Roy's request. The two of them were urged towards a waiting car, and Heath started giving orders to his men, his hand cupped in front of his mouth to shield them and himself from whatever invisible dangers might be hovering in the air.

Roy held the car door open for Ed, gesturing for him to get into the back seat before sliding in at his side. As soon as the door shut, his posture changed. He let out a ragged sigh and slumped back, closing his eyes and scrubbing his hand across his face. Ed knew how he felt. Adrenaline still whispered through his veins, but it was fading away, leaving him drained. His head throbbed and his arm ached, probably bruised from Foster's attack. All he wanted to do was find a dark, warm bed and curl up in its depths.

'You think that gas did something to us?' he asked quietly, leaning against the window and feeling the chill seep through his skull. 'Wouldn't we know already?'

'It depends what it is,' Roy replied. 'The signs said it was toxic, but that could mean anything. Biological weapons can be poisons, which act quickly, or airborne germs used to cause an epidemic. I suppose that's General Heath's concern.'

'Does that even work?' he asked, glancing over at Roy when he didn't get an answer. The man's face was expressionless and withdrawn. The only sign of emotion was in the tightness of his jaw, and Ed felt his stomach clench uncomfortably. 'Has it happened before?'

Roy unfolded his arms and leant forward, propping his elbows on his knees and letting his hands hang as the silence continued. Eventually, he said, 'I heard that something similar happened during the Drachman revolution. The army contaminated the water supply with some kind of water-born parasite to make people too ill to protest against the government. It killed thousands, particularly the young and old.' He shrugged. 'Of course, that could just be propaganda, something they tell neighbouring nations to warn them off, but I suspect there's an element of truth to it.'

Ed looked away, grimacing in distaste. The world never ceased to repulse him. The thought of anyone poisoning people in massive numbers, least of all their own citizens, was enough to make his stomach churn.

'At least if we've got it, then so's Foster,' he muttered, swallowing a faint knot of greasy nausea. 'Hope the fucker suffers.'

The driver's door opened, and Havoc got into the car. His uniform was bleached out with lingering plaster dust, but the pallor of his skin had nothing to do with dirt and everything to do with fear. He twisted around in his seat, looking at both of them with concern. 'Heath's getting everyone he can into quarantine. He really thinks there's something dangerous down there.'

'He's being cautious, Lieutenant,' Roy reassured him as he did up his seat belt. 'If there's ever an enquiry into what happened today, he wants to be seen to be taking all factors into consideration. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.'

'With all due respect, sir, you don't look sure.' Havoc shook his head, meeting Ed's gaze with a faint, concerned smile before he turned around and slipped the key into the ignition. 'We're all being isolated until we know what's going on down there. Apparently they've already got word back to headquarters.'

'What about Foster?' Ed demanded, leaning forward in his seat. 'What're they doing with him?'

'He'll be locked away in solitary confinement and monitored,' Havoc replied, his fingers tightening on the wheel as he pulled away. 'Don't worry, Boss, we didn't go to all that effort to catch him just to let him escape again.'

Ed didn't reply as he turned to look out of the window, staring at Central's busy streets without seeing a thing. He didn't care what happened to the bastard eventually, as long as they kept Foster alive long enough for him to get what he needed. The military had a bad habit of ferreting away promising criminals and using them for their own purposes. If that happened, if Foster vanished into the system never to be seen again, then Ed would never get his alchemy back.

Catching the alchemist who'd done this to him wasn't the final goal; it was merely the first step. There was still so much to do, so many questions to ask, but instead of being free to do what he wanted, Ed was going to be locked up in some stupid quarantine room until some idiot in a white coat let him go again.

Ed shifted in annoyance, wincing as the car went over a bump. Instantly, pain flared up his right arm again, and he cupped it with his left hand. Typical, he'd had his arm back one day and he'd already bruised it. His leg wasn't much better. It burned as if he'd run a marathon rather than a quick sprint, and a cramp was already pinching at his calf muscles.

Roy's gentle touch on his shoulder made him turn, and he saw the clear concern in the man's dark gaze. 'Are you all right?' he asked, gesturing to Ed's arm. 'It's not broken, is it? Foster seemed to hurt you more than he should have been able to from that blow.'

Ed shook his head, his cheeks darkening with embarrassment at his own stupidity. He couldn't believe he hadn't seen Foster hiding in wait for him. 'It's fine,' he mumbled. 'Just, I dunno, the nerves are too sensitive or something – every feeling's too much. If he'd hit my left arm, I probably wouldn't have even noticed.'

The cloth of Roy's jacket rustled as he turned in his seat to face Ed more fully. Unlike everyone else Ed spoke to who knew what had happened to him, there were no waves of pity pouring from him, not today. It was a welcome change, and Ed looked at him curiously, taking in the seriousness of Roy's expression.

'I know you want to focus on finding out what Foster did to you, Ed, but I think you need to re-prioritise.' He held up a hand at Ed's squawk of disbelief. 'Just listen. I'm not saying you stop looking into the array before you've even got started. All I want is for you to consider what's more important, getting your alchemy back, or making sure you can fight off any threat while you're without it.'

His voice turned quieter, less commanding and more concerned as he added, 'Your ability to transmute is no good to you if you're dead. If Foster had his way, you wouldn't have walked out of that lab today. You need to get a weapon you know how to use.'

Ed didn't reply. He couldn't deny it, not when Mustang had seen it for himself. If it had been him reporting back he could have glossed over the truth but, for once, Roy didn't need to rely on his account of what had happened. Ed saw Havoc's gaze flick up to the rear-view mirror, looking right at him for a moment, and he remembered the lieutenant's advice about learning to use a gun or a knife.

'I can't do anything like this,' he said quietly, gesturing with his right hand. 'I'm too weak to fight properly, even if I favour my left side. Sometimes I can hardly even balance right. How am I meant to aim a weapon like that?'

'Then work on strengthening your body first,' Roy said flatly. 'Even with your alchemy, you relied on hand-to-hand and fought at close quarters. It's where you have the most expertise, so you might as well make sure you can use that. Find people to spar with. Train yourself again. You've still got all the power you had before, you just need to re-learn how to use it.' Roy grimaced as he thought it through. 'It's not going to happen overnight, but it's better than nothing.'

Ed wanted to argue, to explain that he couldn't do two full-time jobs at once. Unravelling the mystery of Foster's array would take all the hours in the day and more. As for bullying his body into adapting to its new situation, it would take weeks and months to recover fully, if not longer. What good would working out for a few hours do?

Yet he remembered when he first had the automail, and how Winry and Granny Pinako had constantly been telling him that little things made a big difference. Even just walking around had allowed his body to learn the nuances of the strange, steel burdens attached to it. The same would be true the other way around. Sparring would help him learn anew how to use his altered physique to his advantage, and his body could only get stronger.

'Can I tell Armstrong what happened?' he asked quietly, giving a faint smile when Roy looked confused. 'Al knows all my tricks. When we fight, it's just luck that decides who wins. Major Armstrong doesn't bruise easily, and he's slow enough that I can work on my balance during a fight without getting beaten to a pulp.'

The look Roy gave him was slow and measuring, as if he hadn't thought that Ed would see the logic of his suggestion. Eventually, his lips curved into a gentle smile, and he nodded. 'More to the point, Alex would rather tear his own heart out than hurt you. He'll go easy on you until you force his hand. He should be back from the East tomorrow, I think. You should talk to him then, before he gets posted somewhere else.'

'If they let us out by then,' Ed reminded him, frowning as they pulled up the perimeter of Central Command. The sentries' noses and mouths were covered by cloth masks like doctors sometimes used, and they waved the car through without so much as knocking on the window to get some identification.

The parade ground was deserted apart from one truck, which was being loaded with some complicated-looking equipment. A man with a receding hairline was overseeing it all and commanding his men with nothing more than pointed fingers and single words.

Roy must have seen the curiosity on Ed's face, because he said, 'That's Colonel Bellamy.'

'He looks like a paper-pusher,' Ed muttered, but as they drove past he caught sight of the chain of a pocket watch leading from the man's belt loop to his pocket. 'He's an alchemist?'

'Yes, and a very useful man to have on a battlefield. He can't strategise, and he freezes when his life's in danger, but he's a fantastic medical alchemist. When a man's bleeding to death, that's almost better than a doctor.' Roy undid his seatbelt as Havoc pulled up outside the medical wing. 'Since the Drachman revolution, he's been at the forefront in determining the real risks of biological weaponry. With any luck, he'll be able to find out exactly what's in those tanks.'

Ed pulled a face. He didn't like trusting other people to look out for his welfare, and to think that his health and survival might be dependent on Bellamy's knowledge was not comforting.

Glancing out of the window, he saw a number of people hurrying towards the car. They were dressed from head to foot in green clothes, and masks covered everything but their eyes. One of them reached for the door handle as the car slowed to a halt, urging him out and speaking in a muffled voice as they directed Ed to stand with his arms out to the side of his body.

An astringent mist was sprayed all over him, leaving a coarse, medical smell clinging to his hair and clothes. He wrinkled his nose, baulking at the scent, but no one noticed as he was handed a mask and directed inside.

None of them were touching him, he noticed, and a glance over his shoulder told him that Roy was receiving the same treatment. Everyone kept their distance, issuing vocal instructions rather than risking exposing themselves to whatever either of them might carry. Havoc was led off somewhere else, and Ed and Roy were gestured into a nearby room.

'As the two of you were closest to the breach, you're both being placed under maximum quarantine,' a doctor explained, his dark eyes wary above his mask. 'If either of you start to experience any feelings of malaise, then let us know immediately. Someone will be along later to examine you.'

'Great.' Ed frowned, throwing the mask aside as they shut the heavy door after them. It had a rubber seal all around the threshold, and it squeaked quietly as they were locked in with whatever germs they were carrying. 'What the hell do we do now?'

Roy shrugged, undoing the buttons of his coat and jacket before taking them off and dumping the garments over the bottom of one of the two beds. There was no other furniture in the room, and Ed could tell just by looking that they'd be far from comfortable. The sheets looked like cardboard, stiff with starch, and the pillows were flat and thin.

The only window looked out into an empty observation room. The triple-layer glass shone a blur of reflections back at Ed as he gazed at it. Hard light shone down from the ceiling, making his tired eyes hurt, and he huffed a sigh before stretching out on the bed. 'Do you think they can hear what we're saying?' he asked.

'Probably not.' Roy wandered over to peer through the glass. 'There's nothing in there that looks like a speaker system. Once they've got things under control they'll put a nurse in there to keep an eye on us, but unless she can read lips I doubt she'll know what we're talking about. They're more intent on keeping germs in than getting information out.' Dark eyes glanced his way, and one eyebrow rose in question. 'Why do you ask? Do you have something to confess?'

'Nothing you don't already know,' he replied, flexing his sore right arm. 'I was thinking of when Wallis is in here. He might let something slip.'

'He's dealt with the military before; he knows what he's doing.' The bed sighed as Roy sat on the edge of the mattress, his expression thoughtful as he rubbed a hand up the nape of his neck. It looked like something was preying on his mind. He kept meeting Ed's gaze, his lips open as if to ask a question, but no words ever came. Eventually, he managed to ask, 'Do you know what Foster was talking about, back in the lab?'

Ed's heart thudded in his chest. It was a vague query, but Ed was pretty sure he knew what Roy was asking. He'd hoped that Roy would forget Foster's cryptic little barb in the midst of the crisis, but the man didn't miss a trick. 'What part of it?' he asked, stalling. 'He was rambling a bit.'

Roy gave him a look that saw straight through everything, and his voice was soft as he clarified. 'He said something about me being blinded by my feelings. Do you know what he meant? It seems like a strange thing for him to mention, unless he's said something to you that you didn't tell me about.'

The ceiling filled Ed's vision with its blankness as he stared fixedly at the unblemished plaster. He didn't dare look at Mustang, didn't trust himself not to give away every little flicker of emotion with one glance, but he knew Roy wouldn't let this go until he got an answer.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Ed took a deep breath before he began to explain. 'He was a bit more specific about the reasons he thought I didn't deserve to be a State Alchemist,' he said roughly, trying not to let his face warm with humiliation. 'Foster accused me of shagging around to get into the military.'

The air filled with sudden tension, furious and edgy, and Ed grimaced as Roy hissed, 'You were a _child_. It never ceases to amaze me that people can be so quick to make accusations and so reluctant to acknowledge how remarkable you really are.' The sheets rustled as he shifted, and Ed looked across the room to see Roy frowning at the floor. 'No one who has spoken to you for five minutes can believe you'd use your body to get your commission.'

'It's not like I haven't heard it before,' Ed pointed out. 'The reason Foster said that is because he thinks you and I are –' He cleared his throat. ' – together – like that. When I was in the middle of that array, he said something about the way we looked at each other or something – said it was obvious.'

Ed narrowed his eyes, waiting for the barrage of disbelief and denial, but none came. Instead, Roy was watching him like a hawk, no doubt gleaning far more from his expression than Ed would ever get from Roy's face. He tried to keep his features impassive and indifferent as he turned to glare at the ceiling, but his cheeks were already thudding with a darkening blush. He was sure Roy could read every guilty little want, and he wished he was anywhere but here, facing this. Wasn't it bad enough that Foster had seen Ed's helpless desire for a man almost twice his age? Did everyone have to know?

The weight of Roy's gaze lessened, and he realised that the older man had lifted his eyes to look at the observation window. A young woman was fussing around on the other side, checking over documentation as she listened to a doctor's orders. Ed watched Mustang's reflection in the glass, forcing himself to focus. There had to be something, some glimmer of emotion that he could read, but Roy looked nothing except confused, thoughtful, and a little irritated. He didn't even seem surprised at Foster's accusations.

'I wonder when he had the opportunity to see you and I interact,' Roy said, meeting Ed's eyes in the reflection. 'These days I'm rarely out of the office, so unless he's somehow been spying on us there, then I'm not sure how he had the chance to observe us together.'

Ed frowned, his skin crawling at the thought of Foster lurking in the shadows of headquarters, watching him. 'Wait, a few weeks ago, I called you to come and sort out that bastard Grisco, remember?' Ed's top lip curled in anger at the memory. 'He told you to leash your dog.'

Roy gave a grunt of acknowledgement. 'Yes. I remember. I didn't notice Foster, but people were heading home from work. He could have been one of the crowd.' Mustang looked down at his hands, rubbing at a smut of dirt on one of his gloves. 'I looked at the threats that Foster sent,' he said, 'but there were no sexual undertones to them at all. If anything, most of the disappointment he expressed was towards the military for letting children in, rather than a direct attack on you. I wonder what changed?'

Shifting his weight, Ed swung stiffly into a sitting position, folding his right leg under him and letting his left swing off of the edge of the bed. His back was to the window, and he shoved his hair out of his face as he gave Roy's words some thought. It was easier to concentrate on the whys of Foster’s behaviour than it was to discuss the truth of the man’s words. If Roy didn’t want to talk about that, then Ed was only too happy to follow his lead.

'How old were they, the threats, I mean?' He traced idle patterns on the sheet at his side, sketching out arrays he could no longer activate as he waited for an answer. 'For all we know, a year ago Foster thought I was just a brat who beat him in a test of alchemy. This other shit could be a more recent thing.'

Roy's fingers were curled tight over the edge of the mattress, and his head was bowed as he thought it through. 'I don't remember a date, but he mentioned Bradley.' He scratched absently at his temple before reaching for his coat and pulling a piece of card out of the pocket. 'I found this in Foster's apartment. The doctor on it is a psychologist of some kind. If Foster had issues with his mental health, it's possible that his obsession shifted its focus and became more physical.'

Mustang's face was pale and, for once, Ed could read what he was feeling easily: fear, anger, repulsion, all at the potential danger Foster could pose. The same things echoed through Ed's mind, but zephyrs of memory stirred, blowing them aside. 'Foster's not that kind of threat. Even if he hadn't said it aloud, I'd know. He's disgusted by me and what he thinks I've done.' Ed shrugged. 'What he's doing has nothing to do with my body. It's about my rank and my alchemy, nothing else.'

Whatever Roy's response may have been, it was interrupted by a knock at the door. The two of them looked over as the seal parted with a squeaking sound, and a man dressed in hospital blue and a mask stepped across the threshold. 'Mustang, Major,' he greeted them, his eyes lively above the square of cloth over his mouth. 'Not dead yet, then.'

'It's about time you got here, Wallis,' Mustang said, his smile softening his words. He took in the doctor's appearance with raised eyebrows. 'You're dressed as if you think we're a health risk.'

Wallis snorted and muttered something that sounded rude. 'They wouldn't let me in if I didn't put on all this, not that it will do them much good. I'm to check you over for any signs of an emerging illness. I'll start with you, Major.'

Ed pulled a face, but a quick look from Mustang told him that protesting would get him nowhere. Reluctantly, he obliged, keeping his shirt on but lifting up his vest so the doctor could listen to his heart and breathing.

Roy continued to ask questions about what was happening in the city and the military as the doctor worked. Wallis answered as best he could, talking in quiet, gentle tones. 'The news is being kept quiet to prevent a panic, at least until there's more information available,' he explained. 'Hospitals are on high-alert for anything unusual, and everyone at the scene at the time of the leak has been isolated, either at the lab itself or within this building.'

'What about my command?'

Putting away his stethoscope, Wallis reached for Ed's left wrist, holding up a finger as he measured his pulse. 'They're in good hands. I can go and check on them myself if you wish. I've been given authorisation to assist the military doctors on site.' Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a bottle and a thermometer. 'Open your mouth, Major, and no talking.' He slipped the thermometer underneath Ed's tongue, waiting for him to clench it gently between his teeth before turning to Roy and repeating his tests.

Ed tried not to stare as Roy unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of muscled chest. For someone who spent most of his day behind a desk, Mustang wasn't in bad shape, and it was hard not to let his eyes wander over pale skin and follow the faint trail of dark hair that charted a course down Roy's stomach and beneath the waistband of his uniform.

Hastily looking down at the floor, Ed was glad the doctor had already taken his pulse. He could feel his blood throbbing through his veins, and the last thing he wanted was people assuming he was ill with something when there was a completely different reason for his symptoms.

It wasn't anything new, feeling like this. Even fully-clothed and sitting a desk-width away, Roy could push all other thoughts out of Ed's head and leave him sparking with desire. At first he'd blamed it on puberty. He was busy searching for the Stone and helping Al and he had no time to really deal with himself and the faceless fantasies that started haunting his sleep.

Everyone was always saying how bloody attractive Roy was, and Ed just assumed his body was singing high, tense notes of want because it was being deprived of anything like real release. It hadn't taken him long to realise the flaws in his hypothesis: if it was simply a matter of overwhelming lust, then just about anyone would have caught his eye, but they didn't. Some people were good-looking and others interesting, but none of them could make Ed's mind go blank and his flesh pulse with just a look or a faint, honest smile.

Back then, there hadn't been any options open to him. Al was his top priority, and nothing could change that. It was only once he'd got his brother that the daring flickers of curiosity had begun to stir in earnest. More than once he'd considered just saying something, but every time he failed. The words caught in his throat and his heart shrank in his chest, leaving him silent and empty.

That's the way it had stayed. He thought it was hidden out of sight, tucked away like a dark secret in the twilight of his mind, but Foster thought otherwise. If a stranger had been able to see his desire, then how could Roy not know it every time he looked at him?

Doctor Wallis tugged the thermometer from between Ed's lips, making him look up in surprise. The man was twisting it to the light, and a small frown creased his brow as he glanced back at Ed thoughtfully. 'Do you feel all right in yourself, Major?'

Ed shrugged, regretting the motion as soon as his arm pulsed its bruised warning at him. 'A bit sore, but all right. Why?'

'Your temperature's a little elevated. Not quite fever-grade, but noticeable. It's nothing to worry about yet, but I'll keep an eye on it.' Wallis looked over at Roy, who was currently also silenced by a thermometer in his mouth. 'If the Brigadier-General is the same I might have to bring it to the attention of the medical staff.'

Wallis rinsed the thermometer with ethanol from the bottle and placed it back in his bag before turning back to Roy and checking the reading. 'Normal,' he said eventually, shaking down the mercury in the thin, glass tube. 'I'll come back in a few hours and check on you again, Major, just to make sure. It's probably unrelated, a response to stress or perhaps your ordeal last night, but we need to make sure.'

He looked back and forth between them before picking up his bag and turning to leave. 'May I recommend you take this opportunity to catch up on some sleep?' he suggested as he neared the door. 'It could be hours, if not days, before we know the truth of the situation. You might as well get some rest while you can. Something tells me you might need it.' With that, he left, shutting out the world and leaving the two of them in silence.

Roy was buttoning his shirt up again, but he left the collar open as he lay back on the bed. Ed watched him stretch his long frame out on top of the sheets, seemingly following Wallis' suggestion.

'You can't seriously be going to sleep, Mustang,' Ed said, shaking his head in disbelief as Roy folded his arms behind his head and shut his eyes.

'Might as well. It's not like there's anything I can do from in here.' One eye opened to cast Ed a critical look. 'Besides, it's not like either of us got much rest last night. It'd be a good idea for you to do the same. I know what you're like when you get caught up in a research project. If you get engrossed in working out Foster's array, then who knows when you'll actually sleep again?'

'I sleep,' Ed grouched, looking sceptically at the pathetic excuse for a bed before beating his pillow into shape with his left fist and flumping down on his side.

'Yes,' Roy mumbled, covering his mouth as he yawned. 'At a desk, normally on top of an open book.'

'Like you're any different. I've found you asleep on your paperwork loads of times.'

A warm smile curved Roy's lips as his eyes drifted shut again. 'If you had to deal with the reports I get, you'd doze off too.'

Ed made a disbelieving noise, but he didn't argue. Instead he let the calm furl around them both as he took in the man who lay only a few feet away. Roy looked like he was soaking up the sun in the park, rather than stuck in a quarantine ward. He was relaxed and open, and Ed didn't understand how the man could be so physically trusting when he was so emotionally reserved. He never let anyone see his feelings, but he'd happily fall asleep and leave his body vulnerable to attack.

Not that Ed was complaining. It gave him a chance to notice the things he never saw from the other side of a desk, like the way Roy's shirt was pulled tight over strong shoulders, and the flutter of a pulse in the hollow of his throat. He was able to watch as the rise and fall of Mustang's chest slowed down, becoming deeper and steadier as the minutes passed and he slipped into sleep.

For a long time, Ed lay awake, letting his thoughts wander. He hadn't wanted to tell Mustang about what Foster had said, hadn't wanted to expose himself to Roy’s reaction, but he knew Mustang would have found out eventually. Surely it was better that he heard it from Ed now than from Foster later on?

Lifting his head up, Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy's sleeping form, trying to understand the puzzle pieces that made up Mustang's whole: body and mind, blood and secrets – he never reacted the way Ed expected him too. He'd been waiting for Roy to laugh or pull a face or say something dismissive in response to his revelation, but he hadn't.

Ed pressed his face back to the pillow, staring at Mustang as his mind raced. He might not have acknowledged any truth to Foster's accusations, but then he hadn't denied it either, had he? Was it possible that Foster hadn't been imagining things? His words had been cruel and cold, fuelled by his fury, but could he have seen something between them that Ed hadn't even dared to look for?

With a sigh, Ed frowned, trying to find the answers to his questions. If Foster, barely toeing the line of sanity, could see through the cracks in Roy's mask, then why couldn’t Ed? People said he was a genius, but if he was so smart then how could he still be so mystified by a man he’d known for years?

Ed rolled his shoulders, forcing his eyes shut as he smoothed the tension out of his muscles and tried to steady his breathing. He was being an idiot. How could he understand something he’d never taken the time to study? Heated arguments in the office and cool orders were only a fraction of the picture, like having the circumference of the array and no design within its confines.

One thing was obvious: it was time to stop looking at the façades Roy put up for the world to see and start seeing the man underneath.

Ed just hoped he was up to the challenge.


	9. Chapter 9

Reality ebbed its way into Roy's consciousness, pushing him towards the waking world. It was rare, these days, that he wasn't roused by the shrill of the alarm, and its absence was jarring enough to make him blink his eyes open and look around in confusion. He wasn't in his comfortable bed, safe in the seclusion of his home, and the unfamiliar surroundings sent a surge of adrenaline through him as he sat up sharply.

Memory stirred. He was in a quarantine room at the military hospital, and it was far from homey. The sheets beneath him were coarse, and he had a crick in his neck from sleeping on the flimsy pillow. Glancing around at the blank, white walls, he scowled, struggling to orientate himself. There was nothing to indicate what time it was: no clock and no window to the outside. He could have been asleep for minutes or for days; how was he to know?

Digging in his pocket, Roy pulled out his watch and flipped open the case, gazing at the motionless hands. It had stopped at a little past six, so he and Ed had been in here for at least five hours – probably longer. He felt as if he'd had a good night's sleep, and his stomach was grumbling with hungry complaints.

Glancing across the room, he saw that Ed was curled up on his side, his face smoothed by the touch of slumber. Blonde hair was coming loose from his pony tail, and it veiled his skin with fine gold strands, shifting with every steady breath. His eyelids didn't even flicker in response to dreams. He was completely out of it, and Roy wasn't going to be the one to drag him from the rest he sorely needed.

With a sigh, Roy grabbed the pillow, trying to shake some life into it before he put it against the head of the bed and leaned back, kicking his legs out along the mattress. He had half-expected to awaken ravaged by some kind of illness, yet he felt fine. A little thirsty and a bit cramped, but otherwise healthy and strong. It was tempting to start arguing with the medical staff for their release. After all, the world didn't stop because he was locked up in quarantine.

He itched to talk to Foster. There were so many unanswered questions, and their lingering mysteries were beginning to prey on his mind. One small consolation was that the alchemist was also hidden away in isolation. No one could interview the man until the doctors gave them the all clear, and Roy fully intended to get there first.

There was no telling what Foster might say, and he wanted some control over the flow of information to the higher-ups. It would probably be easy enough to discredit most of the accusations as the ravings of a mad man. After all, anyone with eyes could see that the rogue alchemist was a long way from sanity. He and Foster might know that what he was saying was true, whether it was about the loss of Ed's alchemy or other, more personal things, but everyone else could be made to believe otherwise.

Roy's eyes roved the blank wall in front of him before he turned to watch Ed again. He was the only bit of colour in the room, an image of black and gold that provided a welcome reprieve from the unmarked canvas of the plaster. Ed's shirt was only buttoned up to his breastbone, and the collar was flung wide. He was lying on his side, and the cotton clung lovingly to the flesh that should be steel, only showing glimpses of honeyed skin and the rumpled black vest beneath.

Following the outline up the strong column of Ed's neck, Roy's gaze lingered on the steady beat of Ed's pulse before lifting to his face, watching the younger man's features thoughtfully. He should have known that Ed wouldn't tell him the true depths of what Foster had said without some prompting. His reports were always the same, whether they were written or verbal: he glossed over the threats to his personal safety and well-being and concentrated on that of others.

Most people would think it was an admirable, self-less approach, but Roy knew better. Ed cared for other people, but not as much as he hated pity. He would rather his injuries went ignored than face any sympathy. He probably hadn't mentioned Foster's sexual accusations for a number of reasons: he didn't want to worry Al, it was embarrassing, or perhaps he just didn't think it was relevant.

Roy definitely disagreed with that. He wanted other people to write off Foster as a non-threat because of his mental status, but that didn't mean he was going to make that mistake himself. In that one accusation about the way he and Ed looked at each other, Foster had shown a level of scrutiny that left Roy feeling distinctly uncomfortable. It was a sign that, somewhere amidst the madness, there was an alert mind that still watched everything.

When in Ed's presence, Roy went to a lot of effort to keep every trace of his attraction clear of his expression. Perhaps Ed wouldn't notice it even if it were on display, but Roy was certain that his men wouldn't be so blind. They knew him well, and each one relied on certain aspects of interaction to guess at his emotions.

Hawkeye always watched his eyes, knowing that they were the hardest to keep neutral. Breda listened carefully to what he said, reading volumes into the deliberate choice of Roy's words, and Hughes – Hughes didn't care about his best friend's face or what he was saying. He read body language, picking out the unconscious movements that gave away so many valuable insights into Roy's state of mind.

Normally, Roy sought to keep all of those facets under his control, and the fact that Foster had seen the attraction he felt for Ed in a mere glance was terrifying. Had he really been so unguarded?

It was possible that all this was a coincidence, that Foster had seen the evidence he wanted to see when none was on show, but that didn't change the fact that he'd hit the nail on the head. He'd noticed Roy's desire when every one else was oblivious and, apparently, he'd seen it answered in Ed's expression.

That was hard to believe. After all, Ed was not known for showing anyone affection, apart from Al. Yet he hadn't denied it. When he told Roy what Foster had said, he'd seemed embarrassed, as if he would rather have been dead than talking about it, but he hadn't dismissed it or laughed it off as ridiculous.

Scratching at the stubble that shadowed his jaw, Roy tipped his head to the side, turning that fact over and over in his mind so that he could consider it from all angles. On the surface, Ed's lack of reaction could simply have been because he thought Foster's accusation was wildly incorrect and wasn't worth his consideration. Alternatively, he could feel the same element of attraction as Roy and fear the possible consequences of admitting it.

And there _would_ be consequences, although probably not the ones that had Ed on his guard. If the desire between them was mutual, then Roy knew he would give serious consideration to exploring its potential. A thrill raced through his body at the thought, sparking frissons of heat as it went.

Over time, the pull of attraction he felt towards Ed had become harder to ignore, and Roy had started considering his options. It was a hypothetical exercise – something to pass the time when he was avoiding his paperwork, but one truth had returned to him time and again: what his military peers thought was irrelevant to him.

He knew their weaknesses, their strengths and their secrets; their loyalty could be manipulated when the time came. Whispered gossip meant nothing to Roy, and he definitely wouldn't allow it influence his actions.

All that mattered was what Ed thought, not just now, but in the future. Roy never wanted him to look at what they had together, short or long, doomed or blessed, with regret. Charm and promises were all part of romance, but, from the beginning, Roy had known he'd have to leave his charismatic arsenal untouched.

This had to be Ed's uninfluenced choice. Whatever people murmured to each other, whatever they said with smirks and grimaces, was unimportant, as long as both he and Ed knew that their hateful words weren't true. Neither of them could afford to have doubts or second thoughts, because the rumours would find any flaw and break it wide open, leaving both of them hurt in the aftermath.

And so all he could do was reciprocate any advances that Ed made and hope that, in the end, he wouldn't read Roy's caution for disinterest.

Of course, Roy thought with a depreciating smile, back then all his plans had been wishful thinking, plotting for a future that would probably never happen. Now, he wasn't so sure it was as much a fantasy as he'd first believed.

A sudden movement dragged Roy from the daze of his thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow as Ed started to scowl in his sleep. It was more petulant than angry, and Roy wondered what he was dreaming. His hands were curled into fists, and his breathing was becoming more unsteady as his slumber became troubled.

Roy was just wondering if he should wake him up when the dark fan of Ed's lashes snapped open, revealing sleep-hazed gold eyes. He blinked in confusion before propping himself up on his elbow and glaring around the room. 'Hoped this was a fuckin' dream,' he muttered, flopping back down and scrubbing at his face with his gloved hands. 'What time is it?'

'I don't know,' Roy replied, watching Ed shove aside the loose strands of his hair. 'My watch stopped, and Foster's got yours.' He shifted towards the edge of the bed, glancing up as he saw a pale flash beyond the observation window. 'Looks like we'll have visitors in a minute,' he warned, watching Ed glance sideways towards the next room and pull a face.

'Great,' he muttered sarcastically before brightening up a little. 'Maybe they'll bring breakfast? I'm starving.'

A grumble from Roy's stomach spoke for him, and he studiously ignored Ed's smug grin as the younger man got off of the bed and stretched, groaning as joints popped and cracked. It didn't slip past Roy's notice that his movements were stiff, and that he rested his weight on his right hip as if his left leg was aching.

Before he could ask Ed if he was all right, the heavy door blocking their room from the outside world opened, and Doctor Wallis stepped through. He was no longer wearing the blue cloth mask and the familiar white coat flared like wings as he strode into the room.

'Good news,' he said. 'You've been given the all clear. Your men have also been released , General.'

'That's it?' Ed asked suspiciously. 'We can go?'

'In a minute.' Wallis reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean thermometer and waving aside Ed's scowl. 'I want to check your temperature again first. I'll only keep you here if it's gone up.' Before Ed could argue, the doctor put the glass tube in his mouth, keeping half-an-eye on his surly patient as he turned to Roy. 'Before you begin interrogating me, Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes is waiting for you outside. I imagine he can tell you more than I can.'

Roy smiled, holding back his questions as he picked up his coat and jacket. 'I'll wait for Ed. I need to know he's okay.'

He watched in silence as Wallis checked the stitches in Ed's forehead, telling him to nod or shake his head in response to his questions, rather than voice an answer. With a glance to make sure the observation room was empty, the doctor also ran probing fingers up Ed's right arm and down his left leg from the knee joint. It must have hurt, not that Ed showed it in his face much. Only a slight tightness around his eyes gave him away.

'I did some research into the Fullmetal Alchemist,' Wallis murmured, making sure his voice couldn't carry far. 'I understand why you didn't tell me that you had prosthetics before, Major Elric, and I doubt you'll be able to tell me how you recovered your normal limbs, but you should know that you'll need to talk to your mechanic. Whoever installed your automail will be able to check you over and make sure I'm not missing anything.'

The look on Ed's face was far from happy, but the thermometer in his mouth prevented him from making any kind of retort. All he could do was give a faint, jerky nod of understanding that spoke volumes of his reluctance.

Roy couldn't blame him. He knew how Miss Rockbell reacted to every crack and dent in the automail she built for Ed, but he had no clue what would happen when she found out he no longer needed it. Would she be happy for him, or would her joy be tempered by the underlying truth that she would no longer be needed to help him maintain his prosthetic limbs?

Wallis finally removed the thermometer, taking the reading with a noticeable frown. Thoughtfully, he touched a hand to Ed's brow before shaking his head and giving a shrug. 'It's the same as it was before, higher than average, but not enough to be considered a serious fever. Since you don't feel unwell, I'm assuming it's harmless.' He rinsed the thermometer and looked back and forth between Ed and Roy for a moment. 'If it gets worse or you start to feel unwell, then call me. Brigadier-General, you've got my number. If I don't hear from you, then I'll check it again when we take the major's stitches out at the end of the week.'

'Thank you,' Roy said, genuinely grateful that Wallis had included him in those instructions. If it had been left to Ed, he probably wouldn't have bothered to seek medical help until he was at death's door. 'I'll keep an eye on him.'

'I can “keep an eye” on myself,' Ed snapped. 'I'm not a child.' He turned towards the door, already reaching for the handle as he asked, 'Mustang, are you coming or not?'

With another nod of thanks to the doctor, Roy followed Ed out, walking quickly to keep up. Ed paced like a trapped animal sensing freedom, and it was probably only the sight of Hughes and Al waiting for them that stopped him bolting straight out of the military wing and onto the parade ground.

'Not dead yet, then?' Hughes asked with a grin, his relief obvious in the gleam of his eyes. 'I thought none of us were ever going to see either of you again.'

'What happened?' Roy asked, shrugging into his jacket and doing up the buttons before pulling on his coat. 'I expected to be stuck in here for days.'

'You can thank Bellamy for working so fast. The pierced tank contained a carrier gas for the biological weapon. He worked out it wasn't harmful because the toxin wasn't mixed into it yet.' Hughes held out a couple of sandwiches, smiling as Ed fell on it like he'd not eaten for a year. Roy had a little more dignity, but not much.

'You two got lucky today. Frankly, I thought you'd been squashed flat when the building fell down, and then when all this started to come to light?' Maes shrugged, temporarily speechless. 'It could have been much worse. As it is, the only thing we lost is a few hours of interrogation time, and no one else has been allowed to talk to Foster. Heath made sure of that.'

Ed brushed crumbs from his gloves, screwing up the paper bag and pitching it into a nearby bin. 'Then what are we waiting for? Let's get going.'

Roy met Hughes' gaze, sharing a brief look of dread before he snagged Ed's sleeve, pulling him up short. 'You can't be there for this meeting, Ed.'

'What?' Ed snarled, the tension in his posture increasing another notch as he straightened his shoulders and stepped threateningly into Roy's personal space. 'Why the fuck not, Mustang? I've got more right to be there than you, or have you forgotten who was trapped in the middle of that array?'

'I'm not questioning that,' Roy said, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral as Ed's narrowed eyes flashed with fury, 'but I don't want an audience present when you talk to Foster. As it is, me and Hughes will be in there with General Heath and possibly some of his men.' He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully in case anyone untrustworthy was listening. 'What if Foster calls you out, asks you to prove him wrong? What if he mentions your arm and leg, and Heath demands you roll up your sleeve?'

It was a valid argument, and Ed couldn't turn away from that kind of logic. Roy could see that the anger wasn't fading, but it was being leashed, pushed back and saved for a better time. 'I promise that, if you need to, you can still talk to Foster later with either me or Hughes, but right now it would be a disaster in the making.'

Ed crossed his arms, his jaw clenched tight as he asked, 'So what the hell do I do until then? I can't do anything with the array; I'm back to square one!'

'We found some books in Foster's flat that could be useful,' Roy told him, smothering a smile. If Ed had been a dog, his ears would have pricked up. As it was, his scowl softened, and annoyance was overtaken by grudging curiosity. 'You can also take the opportunity to talk to Major Armstrong, if you can find him, as well as call Miss Rockbell.'

'Maybe I can do that for you, Brother,' Al said quietly. 'You always end up arguing when you're on the phone to her.'

Roy had almost forgotten that Alphonse was there. He hadn't said a word when they'd emerged from quarantine, and a quick glance was enough to show Roy that the younger Elric was worn out and exhausted. He hadn't been at the scene and would have been left clueless about his brother's health while everyone else was locked away in quarantine; he must have been worried sick. Now he was watching Ed cautiously, checking him over for any little sign of ill-health or injury.

'Whichever one of you talks to her, be careful what you say,' Hughes warned them. 'A completely secure line is hard to come by, these days. It's probably best just to tell you'd like to see her this weekend and leave the explanations until she's in Central.'

Ed gave a quiet snort of disbelief, no doubt knowing that Winry would be suspicious as hell about their motive, but he didn't say anything. The rage had faded from his eyes, but the yellow depths were still intently focussed on Roy's face. It was like being caught in a spotlight. Nothing substantial held him, but he was pinned beneath Ed's scrutiny none-the-less, the complete focus of his attention, and Roy didn't dare look away.

Eventually, Ed gave a slow nod, as if Roy had passed some kind of test he hadn't even been aware of. 'Fine,' he said. 'I'll stay away from Foster for now, as long as you tell me everything he says to you. Sometimes alchemists give away their secrets without meaning to with just a turn of phrase.' He paused, glancing at his brother before he added, 'Since he's in custody, we'll get some stuff from the office and go back to our apartment. Al needs a decent night's sleep, and I can work there as well as anywhere.'

The idea of the two of them walking back through Central alone was unsettling, but there was no valid reason Roy could think of to keep them at headquarters, so he nodded his agreement. 'Be in by eight tomorrow morning. I'll let you know what we've found out about Foster, if anything.'

A glimmer of a smile curved Ed's lips as he turned away, beckoning for Al to follow as he strode along the corridor and through the main door, vanishing out into the night.

Roy watched them go, seeing Ed murmur quiet answers to Al's questions. Faint unease gnawed at Roy's stomach, and he tried without success to push it away. He was probably being ridiculous. After all, he couldn't keep an eye on Ed every hour of the day, but the fact that Fullmetal was still weakened and almost defenceless continued to prowl around his mind.

'We can't keep Heath waiting much longer,' Maes said quietly, smiling as Roy blinked himself back from his concerns. 'You look a bit rough, but you'll have to do. I doubt the general looks much better. Are you ready?'

Roy straightened his collar, carefully sorting through the scatter of his thoughts and gathering his wits before he nodded. 'Let's see what Foster's got to say for himself. Somehow, I doubt it will be anything we want to hear.'

'Apparently he's not said a word since he entered solitary confinement. Before we put him in there he was raving to himself, but as soon as he was left on his own, he went quiet.' Hughes wrinkled his nose, leading the way out of the medical wing and towards one of the cell blocks. 'Could the insanity be an act? Something to fool us into thinking he's less of a threat?'

The idea had crossed Roy's mind before, but he'd dismissed it almost instantly. 'I don't think so. Ravings can be faked easily enough, but his instincts are failing him. His unconscious actions are too erratic to be anything but genuine.'

Maes raised his eyebrows briefly in acknowledgement, taking on board that little fact and storing it for later. 'Is there anything I need to know before we walk into this? Anything I should be prepared for? The last thing I need is to be taken by surprise.'

Taking a deep breath, Roy quickly outlined what Ed had told him, explaining why Foster had targeted Fullmetal in particular. The flicker of emotions on Hughes' face was quick and controlled, but it was still present, a mixture of anger and concern. 'The rest of it you know,' Roy finished. 'If Heath's there, Foster will try to convince the general that Ed's unable to perform alchemy and is lying to stay in the military. We have to discredit him as much as we can.'

'And if he tells Heath the two of you are sleeping together?' Maes asked, his expression clouded and dark.

Roy waved a dismissive hand. 'That rumour's been going around for years. Heath won't need our help in ignoring it.'

He could almost hear the wheels turning in Hughes' head, and he would have had to have been blind not to see the curiosity in his friend's eyes. Before Maes could ask any more questions, Roy changed the subject, not daring to meet his friend's eyes as he spoke. 'Hughes, you're good with a knife, aren't you?'

Maes looked at him with wry amusement, letting the clumsy avoidance slide. 'Yes, Roy, I'm good with a knife just like Hawkeye's “good” with a gun and you're “good” with fire. Why do you ask?'

'Do you think you can help Ed at all?' Roy glanced sideways at the nearby sentries before pinning Maes with a meaningful look, trying to convey far more than he could in words. 'Hand-to-hand won't always be enough. I'd like to make sure that his options are open.'

Maes nodded, pursing his lips before asking, 'Why knives? Wouldn't a gun be preferable?'

'The more skills he can get under his belt, the better. He's worked with a blade before, so it's a logical starting point.' Roy raised his eyebrows questioningly when Hughes wrinkled his nose in doubt. 'Isn't it?'

'Better than anything else,' Maes agreed, turning another corner and walking down the corridor at Roy's side. 'I was just thinking that Ed isn't likely to be an easy pupil. Does he even know that you're asking me to help him like this?' Hughes stopped at the door to one of the interrogation rooms, peering through the little window before looking back at Roy with a raised eyebrow. 'I'm guessing from your silence that the answer's “No”.'

'He knows he's got to do something,' Roy replied, 'and we can't wait around for him to swallow his pride and ask for help. Foster almost killed him underneath that lab, and Ed couldn't even fight back. That's got to change. Will you give him a couple of lessons?'

'Of course I will, like I would say no, but I don't know what good it will do if he resents the effort.'

'He won't,' Roy said firmly. 'Ed might be stubborn, but he's far from stupid.'

With a quick tug, he straightened his jacket before nodding at Maes to open the door. 'Come on. The sooner we get this over with, the better.'

Hughes unlocked the door and pulled it aside, allowing Roy to step across the threshold. The room was little more than a box with a chair in the centre of the floor. The military had learned long ago to do away with all but the basic necessities when questioning dangerous criminals, particularly alchemists. When anything could be a deadly weapon, soldiers did what they could to deprive even a chained prisoner of ammunition.

General Heath was waiting in silence, his broad frame resting against the wall as he watched Foster through narrowed eyes. 'Good to see you, Mustang,' he murmured. 'I didn't plan to start the interrogation until you got here, but it seems our man here wanted to chat. He's been talking at me non-stop since I stepped into the room.'

'Has he said anything useful, sir?' Roy asked, keeping his tone indifferent as he thought a few choice profanities. He had hoped that Heath would wait for him outside, but he should have known better than that. The general wasn't a fool; he didn't rely on his underlings to bring him the information he needed, he went and got it. That alone made Roy's life more difficult.

'He wishes to be a state alchemist – apparently he feels that Major Elric did not win his commission in a fair fight.' Heath straightened up, nodding his head to the young woman who was scribbling notes in short hand. 'His request has been documented, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that his actions over the past few days have been more than enough to exclude him from any future attempts at state certification.'

Roy heard Foster's furiously drawn in breath from where he stood and, for the first time, he looked at the man in the middle of the room. Thick, metal chains coiled around his body and legs, clamping him in place. His arms were also restrained, and his wrists were in stocks to prevent him from activating an array. His body was lax in its captivity, like a discarded doll. Only Foster's face showed any sign of activity, and his pallid skin was rapidly darkening with fury as he glared his hatred at Roy.

'Blind!' he spat. 'All of you, blind! I did what I had to in order to show you the truth! They all said he was a genius, the best alchemist they'd ever seen. Not so great now, though. It's all gone, all gone and I got it!' Foster's fingers curved into claws, and he wriggled furiously against the stocks, trying to get free.

'Got what?' Heath asked quietly, his gaze flicking to Roy's impassive face before returning to Foster. 'I've not noticed anything different in the major. He seems as capable as ever in my eyes.'

'No!' It was a scream, one that bounced off the walls and made Roy wince with its intensity. 'No, he has nothing! I stole his alchemy, stole his power, stole it all. He's useless, useless and he's still here! You should shoot the dog that can't bark but you haven't!'

Roy could feel uncertainty pouring off of Heath in waves, and he allowed a small, dismissive smile to curve his lips. 'Sir, what Mr Foster is suggesting is highly unlikely,' he said quietly, keeping his voice light as the prisoner whined and whimpered in his chains. 'There has never been any recorded incident of an alchemist even losing their ability to transmute, let alone being able to steal the power of another.'

He looked at Foster, tipping his head as he frowned in thought. 'Even if it was achievable, I believe such a thing would fall into the realm of human transmutation. That would mean the perpetrator would be tried and likely executed or imprisoned, rather than rewarded with a position in the military.'

Foster was shaking his head furiously, making the chains that bound his body clink and whisper as sweat beaded his upper lip. 'Human transmutation changes flesh, blood, bone, not this! This is deeper!' His expression flickered, going from open and fervently earnest to cold in the blink of an eye. 'Brat gave you his body for his rank and you don't want him gone. You're no better than he is!'

Roy looked up at the ceiling and let his shoulders drop, affecting the air of a man who had heard enough of this particular accusation to last a lifetime. 'The Fullmetal Alchemist and I have never shared anything but a platonic, professional relationship. General, must we go through all this again?'

Heath shook his head never taking his eyes from Foster. 'The world is a vicious place, and people would rather spread malicious rumours than believe that people can possess great talent. There has already been speculation about the major's commission, but I am confident he gained his place through ability alone. There's no evidence of him having any influence over the Brigadier-General or anyone else at the time he joined the service.'

'Look at them!' Foster roared, throwing his body from side to side. If the chair hadn't been bolted to the floor, it would have toppled, but as it was he was still held firmly in place. 'Get them in the same room and _watch_. It's all in their eyes!'

The alchemist's words choked off in a tight sob, and his shoulders trembled with his next shuddering breath as he clenched his teeth and growled, 'The boy is useless – no good to the military, no good to anyone. You don't believe me, but I'll prove it to you if you give me the chance. Just let me out!' He wriggled beseechingly, panting with exertion.

When no one made a move to free him, the man hung his head, slumped and defeated as he muttered words became more lucid. 'His arm, his leg, check them. It gave them back in return for his alchemy. There's no steel left in Fullmetal any more.'

If Foster had shouted or screamed that statement, it would have been easy to wave aside, but he spoke with flat certainty, and it was all Roy could do to sculpt a quiet lie. 'General, I have known the Fullmetal Alchemist for years, and I know what a burden his automail can be. I've no doubt that he would be happy to be returned to his whole self, regardless of the price, but such a thing is impossible.'

Heath looked uncertain, his gaze sweeping from Roy to Foster and back again. The silent seconds crept by, and Roy could feel Foster's impatience growing, building like a storm cloud as he stared at the general from beneath his brow.

Finally, the snarl in Foster's throat broke free. 'Why won't you believe me? Why won't you even check? Are you part of it too, General?' he spat. 'Won't give him up because you're getting your share?'

Heath went pale, startled from his consideration by the crass accusation. His jaw worked silently for a moment as he struggled to speak and, when he did, his words were strained. 'Any denial I can make will obviously be a wasted effort,' he ground out. 'It is clear to me that you will believe what you want and ignore any evidence to the contrary. This interview is over. As a consequence of your actions, from the assault on Major Elric to the demolition of the Mendleton Laboratories, you will remain in custody until such time that you can be brought to trial.'

'But –' Foster shook his head in disbelief as Heath turned on his heel, motioning for Roy to follow him. ' – But the brat's useless! Only kept because he spreads his legs!'

His voice increased in volume, continuing his tirade as they strode out of the room. The secretary was the last to scurry away, pale-faced and tight-lipped as she closed the door behind her. She cut a quick salute to them before she left, promising the general copies of the transcript as soon as possible.

Heath pinched the bridge of his nose, casting a dark look back at the interrogation chamber as he visibly struggled for control. 'A despicable man,' he growled, shaking his head. 'Clearly he's unhinged. He appears to be obsessed with the idea of being a state alchemist and is willing to make desperate accusations to achieve his ends.' He sighed, straightening his jacket with quick tugs. 'I'm just sorry that it was Major Elric who bore the brunt of his attack.'

Sharp eyes glanced towards Roy, and Heath's confident body language returned as he asked, 'How is the Fullmetal Alchemist, by the way? I expected him to be present for this.'

'Not much keeps him away from his research, these days, sir,' Roy said with the tone of someone who'd grown used to making excuses for Ed's behaviour a long time ago. 'He's concentrating on the array Foster used to see if there's anything we can put to use.'

The general's eyes did not leave Roy's expression, and he forced himself not to let through even a hint of uncertainty beneath Heath's scrutiny. 'Be that as it may, Mustang, I would like to speak to the major at a convenient moment,' the general said. 'Foster may be unbalanced, but his accusations will be enough to make people wonder. It's best they have it on the highest authority possible that there is nothing to be concerned about.'

Roy's stomach curled uncomfortably, but he kept his voice flat as he asked, 'You think that Foster will be interviewed by other people, sir?'

Heath nodded absently, glancing back through the pane of glass in the door at Foster's now silent form. 'They'll move him to a proper cell tonight, and I'll try and ensure that all requests from other departments to question him go through me. However, I imagine that people will want to talk to him and I can't stop them.'

The general rubbed a hand across his jaw, glancing down the corridor before leaning a little closer. 'You have been in on this Foster business from the beginning, and your right to jurisdiction is beyond a doubt, but that doesn't mean some officers won't try to cut you out of the picture.'

'Sir?'

'I've learned the hard way that there is always someone willing to go to extraordinary lengths for their own benefit. Just watch your back, Mustang. You're too promising to lose now.' His smile was tired, but genuine, and Roy saluted smartly as the general turned and trudged away, no doubt anxious for his bed after the chaos of the day.

Silently, Roy turned to look at Hughes, watching his friend pull a worried face. Maes hadn't said a word throughout the entire exchange, but that was the way he often worked. Just because he held his tongue, it didn't mean he wasn't taking note of what was happening. While other people were picking their way through a tangle of words, he was busy watching their actions.

'What do you think Heath's going to talk to Ed about?' he asked quietly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Roy shook his head. 'It doesn't matter. He didn't make it an order, so we make sure that there is no “convenient time” for Ed to see the general.'

'You plan to keep them apart until – what, exactly?' Maes asked. 'I don't think Ed's plans include getting his automail back.'

Pressing a hand to his face, Roy let out a tired breath, trying to calm the frantic spin of his thoughts. 'I don't know. Look, when Heath's requests become demands, I'll think of something. Right now, Foster is my more immediate concern.'

'Well, you were right about his mental health,' Maes said, leaning back against the wall. 'He's not faking it. The question is, has he always been like that?'

Roy shrugged, sparing one last glance through the door at Foster before he began to pace down the corridor. 'We need to talk to this Doctor Morraine person. Foster would have had a psychiatric evaluation before he took the state alchemy exams, and anything serious would have barred him from participating. Six years ago, he was normal enough. Something changed.'

'Maybe it's something to do with the array he used on Ed?' Hughes asked, shrugging when Roy gave him a doubtful look. 'I'll get onto Morraine first thing in the morning and see what I can do. I sent your command home, by the way. I thought they needed some rest away from military headquarters while they got the chance. They'll be in at eight in the morning.'

Quickly, Roy looked around for a clock, raising his eyebrows when he spied one on the wall. Its hands told him that it was almost eleven at night, and his mind grappled to accommodate the missing hours of his day. He must have slept solidly in the quarantine room because, while he might not feel refreshed, he was certainly more invigorated than tired. Still, Maes had a point. It might be a good idea to get home before duty dragged him back to his desk.

'I need to talk to Ed.' he said quietly, almost to himself. 'Most of what Foster said he already knows, but that bit about the array going beyond flesh, blood and bone sounded like it meant something. That, and I need to warn him to stay away from Heath. The last thing we need is them bumping into each other in the corridor. I'll drop by his apartment on the way home.'

He became aware of Hughes watching him with wry amusement, and he scowled as he gave his friend a dark look. 'What?'

'Nothing, nothing.' Maes grinned. 'Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?'

'I think Ed got nearly as much sleep as I did. He'll probably be up studying the array all night. He'd be best off knowing now, rather than later.' It was a logical reason, perfectly acceptable, but Roy could still sense Hughes' smug disbelief, and he sighed as he said, 'If you've got something to say, then say it.'

Maes paused at the front door of Central Command, looking around the empty hallway. The corridors were deserted at this time of night, and he turned back to Roy with a glint in his eye. 'When you explained to me that Foster thought that you and Ed were sleeping together, your expression barely flickered. Even in that room, your masks were firmly in place. Before, when people have accused you of offering Ed his commission in return for sex, you've always said something: a hissed comment or a firm denial – _something_. This time, you didn't even frown. To Heath and anyone else, it might look like it's just because you've heard it so many times, but to me... .'

Roy could almost see the race and rush of Maes' assumptions, and he raised an eyebrow as he watched his friend tip his head to one side. 'You're reading too much into things, Hughes. Sometimes what you see really is all that's there.'

'What I see is you hurrying out in the middle of the night to get to Ed when you could make a phone call or leave it until you see him in the morning.' Maes smile broadened into a grin. 'Care to tell me what I should or should not be reading into that?'

'Absolutely nothing,' Roy replied curtly. 'Don't you have a wife to get home to?'

Hughes laughed, a bright, happy sound that echoed along the corridor 'Fine, fine. Don't tell me what's going on in that head of yours. I'll find out eventually.' He hesitated, his glasses flashing in the light as he turned serious. 'Just be careful, all right? I get the feeling this Foster business is only the tip of a much bigger iceberg.'

Roy nodded, digging his hands into his pockets. 'Heath said pretty much the same thing. There's definitely a feeling in my gut that this is a long way from over.'

'You and Ed both need to watch you backs,' Maes said quietly. 'Maybe I'm wrong and it'll end with Foster in a cell, but something doesn't feel right.' The two of them stood in silence, both lost in their own thoughts and suspicions as they tried to calculate the spin and twist of events in the days ahead. Finally, Hughes sighed, jerking his head towards the door. 'Come on. You might not need sleep, but I do. We can worry about this tomorrow.'

Obediently, Roy followed his friend down the steps and onto the parade ground, crossing the expanse of dusty earth as they headed towards the perimeter. The gate loomed in front of them and, once the sentries had let them out, Roy bid Hughes a quiet goodnight. 'I'll see you tomorrow. Let me know as soon as you've got anything on Doctor Morraine.'

'Sure. Sleep well, Roy.' A smile flickered on Maes' lips. 'Say “hi” to Ed for me.'

'It's not a social call.' He rolled his eyes as Hughes grinned again, raising his eyebrows knowingly before he turned away. With a brief wave, he was gone, heading towards his home and family and leaving Roy standing alone in the night.

With a huff of irritation, Roy set off in the opposite direction. The air was still bitterly cold, and a fresh layer of frost lay across the ground like spilt sugar. It cracked under Roy's boots, punctuating his thoughts with each footstep as he turned and walked towards Ed's apartment. Whatever Maes thought, this was more about work than play. Ed needed information and he needed it quickly.

For all Roy knew, Foster's little rant could be the key to the whole thing, and he wasn't about to deprive Ed of it for a moment longer than he had to. Besides, he wanted to ease some of the niggling little fears that chased around his body. He just wanted to make sure that Ed had got home all right, that was all.

He was getting good: he could almost believe the little lies he told himself.

Roy wrinkled his nose as a sharp wind blew down the street, flapping his coat in its clutches and turning his thoughts sluggish. He should have known Maes would be watching him almost as much as he was watching Foster. It wasn't a twist or grimace that had raised his friend's suspicions, but the all-consuming blankness of his façade.

The truth was that Roy felt too much: a cocktail of horror and repulsion over Foster's familiar accusations, tempered by the timid flutter of hope that somewhere in all this mess there was a grain of truth, and that Ed did share the same volatile attraction.

Warring emotions stormed through him, each making their own demands and consuming his thoughts. How was he meant to let only a fraction of all that onto his face when, underneath, it threatened to overwhelm him?

With a shake of his head, Roy turned into Ed's street, noticing the gleam of the lights through the windows of the Elrics' apartment. He had known Ed wouldn't be asleep, but now, faced with the prospect of actually talking to him, Roy wasn't so sure he was doing the right thing. Could he honestly say that he was coming here for Ed's good, or was it out of some selfish need to be in his presence again, to feed his weak hope and keep its ember glowing? Could he really look his reflection in the eye and say that he was putting duty first?

Yes. If there was one thing he had learned to do over the years, it was to segregate professional and personal. He cared for all his men as more than colleagues, but that didn't mean he would let his heart over-rule his head.

Whatever the future held, Roy knew that, right now, Ed needed his help, and he was only too happy to give it.


	10. Chapter 10

Books covered the kitchen. Some lay with their pages spread wide, while others were closed and ignored. Bits of paper had slipped to the floor, painting it grubby white, and screwed up notes surrounded the bin like discarded snowballs. Warm lamplight glowed through the room, chasing off the night, and the tap was dripping, counting off each passing second.

Ed sat in one of the chairs, boots propped up on the table as he focussed on the book in his hands. As soon as Mustang had said they'd found texts at Foster's place, his heart had leapt. There was bound to be something useful within their covers. An answer would be great, but a lead would at least give him a place to start. Right now, he'd settle for even a hint about how Foster had created his array but, so far, he'd found nothing.

Al had wanted to help him search, but one look at his little brother's exhausted eyes was enough to make the decision for both of them. Normally, he'd welcome the assistance; Alphonse was better at this kind of thing – more meticulous – but he needed sleep, and Ed wasn't about to rob him of that. He'd happily give up his own rest, forget to eat, move or blink in the name of research, but he'd rather never pick up a book again than make Al suffer.

Now, Ed's eyes ached from scanning through densely packed print, and his head buzzed with too much useless information. He was beginning to wonder if Foster had planted these books to deliberately mislead anyone searching his home. They didn't even seem particularly relevant. Most were historical accounts of human transmutations, ones that Ed knew well. He'd read them as a child, hoping that by knowing about other people's mistakes, he wouldn't make his own. Fat lot of good that had done. He'd still fucked up, and now he was staring at the familiar words all over again, trying to find more meaning than what was written in black and white.

With a sigh, Ed snapped the volume shut, pitching it onto the table before pressing his fingertips to his eyelids. His right hand tingled, his skin itching from the sensory overload, and he pulled back, flexing his palm experimentally as hot and cold waves raced up his arm. Wallis had said it would fade, and Ed hoped that the doctor was right. The bruise where Foster had slammed into him was still throbbing, even now, and his left leg ached up to the knee.

When he'd had his automail, winter had made him feel like an old man, stiff and aching from the tightness of his metal limbs. Now he was like a newborn foal, shaky and unsteady, graceless and unsure of himself. There were other differences too. His appetite, normally voracious, had vanished, leaving him picking at his food, and he felt as if he was constantly too hot. Wallis and his thermometer had confirmed that and, although Ed could guess at reasons, he couldn't be sure. Only one person would probably be able to give him a definitive answer.

Winry.

Ed grimaced to himself. Al had already called her, and his carefully chosen words had been enough to catch her attention. She'd get to Central soon enough, if only to satisfy her curiosity. She wasn't stupid, and she might already have her suspicions about what might have happened, but that didn't stop the sick, hollow feeling in Ed's stomach.

He didn't want to tell Winry what Foster had done. He didn't want to tell _anyone_ , because how could they understand? Normal people couldn't begin to grasp the magnitude of what he'd lost when Foster had taken away his ability to transmute, and alchemists couldn't bring themselves to face the fact that it was possible. It horrified them, sickened them to their stomachs and made them look at him with so much sympathy in their eyes that he could barely stand the sight of them.

Even Al didn't get it. He was happy that Ed had his arm and leg back and, although the fact his brother could no longer perform alchemy was obviously a source of pain and worry, he acted like he thought Ed would adapt and learn to live with it.

Ed's heart twisted horribly, and he shook his head to himself. As if he could ever forget about what it felt like to have an active array beneath his palms, the bite and flow of power, that ability to make some sense of the chaotic world and chart out that knowledge in lines and energy - he needed that!

His whole life had been about alchemy: his greatest weapon and tool. For Al there had always been more, but for Ed it was the only thing that captivated him. It was so full of mystery, and he always felt that if he could just understand it, then maybe he and Al would find out that all they had lost, all they had been through, was worth it.

Equivalent exchange.

Instead he was left here with nothing. Alchemy had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. He'd learnt to read from his father's textbooks and could draw a simple array before he could write his own name. If he wasn't an alchemist anymore, then what was he? _Who_ was he?

Fiercely, Ed pushed himself out of his chair, prowling around the kitchen table as he tried to shove his panicked thoughts aside, but they resisted his efforts as the questions rose up like a tide, flooding through him and battering at his resolve. Even if he could find out how to undo Foster's work, it wouldn't be him who took the risks. Someone else would have to touch the array and pour themselves into the transmutation. Someone else would have to face the consequences if it all went wrong, and who could he put in that spot? Whose life was he willing to risk to get his alchemy back?

If he could somehow construct an array that circumvented direct contact with the Gate and used energy as efficiently as possible, it was likely it would still take a massive amount of power to activate. A philosopher's stone would do it, but even as the thought crossed his mind Ed knew it wasn't a path he could take. Not again. So what did that leave him with?

Looking down, he realised he was wringing his hands together, flesh fingers knitted through each other and twisting in an unconscious effort to calm his nerves. Quickly, he clenched his fists, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. One step at a time. He couldn't worry about how to power an array when there was no way of knowing if one could even be built to do the job. He had to face each problem as he came to it. If he kept looking at the bigger issue, then he knew he'd fall at the first hurdle.

Ed glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight and, despite sleeping in the quarantine room, he knew he should probably try and get a few hours of rest soon. He had talked to Armstrong, as Mustang had suggested, and he was meeting the bigger man at six in the morning to spar. Part of him thought it was a waste of time. He'd rather be concentrating on getting his alchemy back, but Roy had a point. Ed couldn't rely on others to look after him, and that meant he couldn't afford to be helpless.

A quiet knock at the door echoed through the apartment, making Ed look up in surprise. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, debating whether to leave whoever it was standing out there and get back to his research, but they knocked again, more persistent this time, and he realised they probably weren’t going to give up in a hurry.

He slipped out of the kitchen, walking across the living room to the front door with barely a sound. It was too late at night for a social call, so who the hell was in the hall? It could be someone from the office, but it could just as easily be a threat as a friend, and Ed wasn’t about to let just anyone in.

Peering through the peephole, he blinked in surprise to see Mustang standing on the other side. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall as he waited, his face tense with thought, and a dart of unease shimmied down Ed’s spine, clashing strangely with the thrill of excitement that rushed to the pit of his stomach. Had something happened? Had Foster got away again? Was he needed back at headquarters for something?

He wasn’t going to get any answers unless he let Roy in, and Ed threw back the bolts before yanking the door open, bracing his palms against the door frame as he raised a questioning eyebrow. Instantly the chill swept in, raising gooseflesh along his skin, and the sight of Roy huddled in his coat was bordering on pathetic.

‘Get in before you freeze your arse off,’ he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder as he stood aside to let Roy pass. He tried to ignore the look of faint surprise on Mustang’s face, as if the man hadn’t expected such common courtesy. Shutting out the icy night, he turned around, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door. ‘Please tell me you haven’t lost the fucker already?’

‘It may surprise you, Ed, but we are capable of keeping one man in custody without your help,’ Roy replied smoothly, running a gloved hand through his hair as he surveyed the living room with interest. ‘Aren’t you working on the array?’

‘Yeah, it’s in the kitchen,’ he replied, frowning in confusion. ‘Why, did Foster say anything useful?’

Maybe it was because he was actually watching Roy’s face now, but Ed didn’t need any help reading the doubt in his expression. The older man gave a graceful shrug, his lips pressed in a flat line. ‘Most of it was nothing new, so I won’t bother to repeat it all. You can look at the transcript if you want to know about it, but he did say one thing that sounded –’

‘Important?’

‘Out of place,’ Roy corrected. ‘It was like he was repeating something he’d heard somewhere else, rather than his own words. I thought it might mean something to you.’ A small, apologetic smile curved his lips. ‘I would have left it until the morning, but I guessed you’d still be working. I thought you’d prefer to know now, rather than wait?’

The tone of his voice made it a question, and Ed gave a snort of mirthless laughter. ‘Well, I need something. The books from his place aren’t telling me a thing. I’ve been reading for ages, and I’m still no closer to finding out how the hell he did whatever it was.’ He shoved his hair back from his face before putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head to the side. ‘So what did he say?’

‘He was telling Heath what happened, saying how he stole your alchemy. I was trying to make sure that the general didn’t believe it, and I explained that such a thing would be human transmutation and punishable as such.’ Roy frowned, perching on the arm of the sofa and folding his arms over his chest as he stared at the floor. ‘His answer was strange. He said something about human transmutation being about flesh, blood and bone, whereas what he did went deeper.’

As soon as the words left Roy’s lips, Ed felt as if he’d been drenched in ice water. His breath stuttered in his chest, and he turned to stare at the bookcases as his mind scrambled to place the phrase. He remembered reading it somewhere. The phantom brush of paper tickled his fingertips as he heard the squeaking recollection of Al’s sleepless armour next to him.

Ed could almost feel the weight of the tome against his palms but, for all the richness of the memory, he couldn’t begin to remember who the author had been. There had been something strange about the book, something unique, but his mind failed him, and he hissed a curse of irritation as he scowled at the far wall.

Belatedly, he realised that Roy was watching him, his dark eyes almost black in the weak lamplight and his lips parted around a puzzled question he’d not yet voiced. ‘You know it?’ he asked softly.

‘Yeah, I think he was babbling about the opening line of a book, but I’ve got no idea which one.’ Ed scratched at his head, moving towards the shelves. He skimmed along the ranks, but there was nothing there that jumped out at him. It wasn't like he and Al had limited reading material over the past few years. They'd raided libraries all across Amestris and beyond in their search, and that passage could be anywhere. 'Shit,' he muttered, scowling down at a wobbly stack piled up by the couch. 'I can't even remember what the book was about – not specifically. Foster said nothing else?'

Roy shook his head. 'Like I said, the rest of it was nothing you've not heard from him before. Are you sure there's nothing in the books we found at his apartment? Could you have missed something?' His brow creased into a frown as he added, 'They were hidden out of sight, and they must have been important somehow, otherwise why would he run the risk of stealing them from a military library?'

'I was beginning to think the fucker had put them there to mislead anyone on his tail.’ Ed shrugged. ‘I mean, they're kind of relevant, but they're not exactly the breakthrough I was hoping for.'

'I don't think Foster's mentally capable of that kind of deceit, at least, not now. Perhaps a few years ago he was more stable. I suppose it could be something he's had set up for some time.’ There was a moment of silence before the tone of Roy’s voice changed from thoughtful to curious. ‘What are you doing?'

Ed looked over his shoulder from where he stood by the nearest bookshelf. 'Searching. I know those words; I've read them somewhere. For all I know, it's a passage in something I own. There's no point in tearing the country apart looking for it if it's actually here.'

He turned his eyes down again, skimming through the first few text-packed pages before putting it back and moving onto the next. The rustle of cloth behind him made him glance around again, and Ed raised both his eyebrows in surprise as he realised that Mustang had sat on the floor and was working his way through one of the piles.

The dark, woollen coat and jacket had been discarded, and Ed licked his dry lips absently as he realised that Mustang's collar was also undone. It was such a small change, but it somehow made all the difference. The gold stars of Roy's rank still gleamed from his uniform where it was slung over the chair, but Ed knew that this unexpected assistance had nothing to do with the military.

Dark eyes skimmed another title before he parted the covers, and Ed felt a jolt of something indefinable shoot through him as he realised that Roy had taken his gloves off. Of course, the rough ignition cloth would be hell on the paper, but he hadn't expected Roy to think of that. Did he treat all books with such respect, or was it the fact that Ed owned these that inspired his thoughtfulness?

Suddenly, Roy glanced up, head tipped to one side as he lifted his eyebrows in question. 'Are you all right?'

Ed blushed, realising that he was staring like an idiot. Quickly, he looked back at the shelf, taking a steadying breath before he replied. 'Yeah, I just –' He shrugged, tugging another book free. 'Thanks for helping. You don't have to if you want to get some sleep or whatever.'

'I got enough of that in the quarantine room. Besides, if I went home now you'd stay here until you'd looked through every book you own. With two of us hunting, maybe we can find it twice as fast.'

Ed smiled to himself. Mustang was faultlessly logical, as always, and he was grateful he didn't have to do this on his own. Research was something he normally enjoyed, but basic stuff was more frustrating than it was rewarding, and he'd rather be learning something new than visiting the same old dusty theses that he'd read a dozen times before.

'Thanks,' he said again, casting a quick smile over his shoulder at Roy before turning away, aware of the prickle of Mustang's gaze on the back of his neck for a few moments more before the sensation finally faded.

They worked peacefully, and Ed had finished on one bookcase and moved onto the second before long. He was vaguely aware of Roy checking backwards along the bottom shelf, having searched the stacks for any likely matches, but Ed was too engrossed in the repetitive scan-and-discard of each volume to feel more than a faint, prickling awareness of Mustang's warmth nearby.

Halfway along the middle shelf, he automatically reached for the next book, his fingers closing over the spine a second before Roy's bare palm rested on the back of his hand.

The sensation shot up his right arm: a rush of heat that was almost painful in its intensity, and Ed swallowed tightly as warmth pooled through him, wiping his mind blank and sending thrills along every nerve. His heart was thumping hard against his ribs, keeping time with a deeper throb that pulsed to life between his legs.

Slowly, Roy withdrew his hand, his voice gravelly as he mumbled, 'Sorry.' A faint flush lingered on his pale cheeks. His eyes were darker than usual, almost black, and Mustang's breaths were tight and uneven. The older man's lips were slightly parted, and a tremor ran through Ed's body as his tongue darted out to wet them, perfectly tempting.

He almost stepped forward, almost reached out to grab that open collar and claim what his body was screaming for, but a black hand of doubt reached up to choke his courage, leaving him cold and helpless. What if he was mistaken? What if he was reading things wrong? Mustang wasn't like other people – he was always on his guard. Why would he suddenly start leaving his masks behind?

Roy must have sensed withdrawal, because he took half a step back, and a flicker of something crossed his expression. Disappointment? Guilt? Or something else?

Ed's body warred with his mind, and he took a deep breath, summoning his voice up and forcing his tongue to form some kind of words 'It's okay,' he replied, reaching for the book. It was easier to look at the blank pages than it was to look at Mustang, and he tried desperately to focus on the words as his skin hummed and tingled.

'Is it the right one?' Roy asked, his voice soft. He was still standing within arm's reach, close enough to touch if Ed wanted to, and the tone of those words slipped over his flesh like a rush of hot silk. Pursing his lips, he shook his head, trying to ignore the excitement that coursed through him, fogging up his mind and making every fraction of skin devastatingly aware of Roy's presence.

'No,' he managed to croak. 'Whatever book Foster was talking about isn't in here.' Clearing his throat, Ed scowled around the room before giving a shrug and returning the text to its place. 'I'll have to check out the library tomorrow.'

Roy moved back another step, leaning against one of the bookcases and putting his hands in his pockets. He was still watching Ed, his gaze never faltering, but at least now there was a little distance between them. It allowed Ed to stifle the pleas of his body, muffling them beneath the blanket of his thoughts, and the next mouthful of air was mercifully cool, rather than warm and spice-scented.

Mustang's shoulders were tense, as if he were trying to hold himself back, but when he spoke his voice was warm and gentle, more personal than professional. 'It'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,' Roy pointed out. 'Without a name or a title, all you can do is search the shelves one by one.' He straightened up, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck before he asked, 'Do you think it's a lead worth following?'

Slowly, Ed nodded. 'It's about the only one I've got. Everything else has been nothing but a dead end. It probably won't take more than a few days, especially if I start straight after I see Alex tomorrow.'

The unspoken fact that he'd work through the night if he had to lingered in the air, and Ed saw a glimmer of disapproving concern on Roy's face. He braced himself, expecting to be told he couldn't drive himself to exhaustion over this, but none came. Instead, Mustang's shoulders slumped: a silent admission of defeat. 'If I can spare anyone from the office, I'll send them over to help you,' he promised. 'What time are you meeting with Armstrong?'

Ed glanced at the clock, grimacing as he realised that the hands had swept around the clock face, taking the night with them. 'In about five hours.'

'Then I'd better let you get to bed.' Roy straightened up, an almost-innocent smile flickering on his lips. 'Alex might be slow, but he's brutal, and sometimes he forgets his own strength.' Worry darkened his face, and a frown tilted his brow as he shrugged into his jacket and coat and moved towards the door, pulling it open before pausing on the threshold and turning around. 'I know you would rather be doing research to get your alchemy back than training your body to live without it, but please don't be careless when you're sparring. Even if your opponent's a friend, you can still end up badly hurt.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Ed replied, rolling his eyes when Roy shot him an “I'm serious” look.  
  
'Ed – ' he growled warningly.

'I know, Mustang.' He sighed, waving a hand irritably. 'I'm already half helpless as it is. I'm not about to go and make a bad situation worse by letting Armstrong beat me to a pulp.'

'Alex isn't who you should be worrying about. I know how you get when you're frustrated. You push yourself further than you should.' Roy's teeth were gritted, as if he knew Ed wouldn't like what he was saying, but had to voice the words anyway. 'Training yourself back to full strength isn't something you can do in one session, and you'll hurt yourself if you try.' He held up a hand as Ed opened his mouth to argue. 'Just – take care of yourself, okay?'

The temptation to snarl was there, as always, barely held back on his tongue, but Mustang was right. It would be easy to keep saying “a few more minutes” and do himself more harm than good. Even as a child training with Izumi, he'd been the same, and wasn't his body in much the same state now, all flesh and unsure of its own power? Learning his limits and how to push them hadn't happened over night, and he couldn't expect anything to change that.

'I can't stop practising just because something hurts. The whole point is to face physical challenges and meet them,' he explained, lifting his chin defiantly as Roy scowled. 'Look, if it makes you feel better I'll set a time limit and not go any further.’ He knew that Mustang would rather have complete obedience, but a compromise was all he could offer.

Slowly, Roy nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful and - slightly nervous? Ed narrowed his eyes, trying to understand what he was seeing. For a moment he thought that Roy would say something else, but the older man shook it away with a smile as he murmured, 'Sleep well, Ed. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Night,' he murmured in reply, watching Mustang stroll away down the corridor before turning the corner and vanishing out of sight.

Closing the door, Ed turned around, leaning his back against the expanse of wood and scrubbing his hand over his face. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, feeling the brush of his lashes against his skin as he let out a shaky breath.

'Fuck,' he whispered to himself, dropping his arms to his sides and blinking at the empty apartment. He should have known that, if Roy's simple presence was enough to distract him, then a touch would feel like holding onto a firework, thrilling and dangerous all at once. As it was, physical contact with Mustang was rare, normally limited to shoving him out of the way of something dangerous, but that had been completely different, an accidental touch without a single barrier in the way, and all that had filled Ed's mind was the simple craving for much, _much_ more.

Slowly, Ed picked his way across the book-strewn living room, his mind still throbbing with questions, doubts and needs. He was almost sure that Mustang hadn’t been left unaffected, but there was a difference between feeling desire and actually acting on it. Roy hadn't made any move to do anything. He hadn't tried to kiss Ed, or kept his hand where it was, but at the same time he hadn't fled from the possibility.

Flicking on the bathroom light, Ed reached for his toothbrush, going through his night-time routine automatically as thoughts waltzed around his head. One thing was for certain, Mustang hadn't changed. He was still the same man he'd always been, but previously, where Ed had only seen Roy deliberately getting in his way and stopping him from doing what he wanted, he realised that there was a streak of protectiveness. He'd been looking out for Ed's welfare when Ed had been too focussed on Al to care, and it seemed that carried on even now.

Ed sighed, wishing he could have faith in what he'd seen on Roy's face. He wanted to believe that this really was as straightforward as it seemed, but his fears didn't give him that luxury.

Moving out of the bathroom, he nudged aside the bedroom door and padded towards the welcoming nest of his bed. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as he slipped them free from their holes and shrugged out of the cotton. The rest of his clothes followed, and Ed left them in a heap on the floor as he slipped between the sheets and curled up on his side, his eyes narrowed in the darkness.

He was a scientist, and maybe he wasn't very good with figuring out people, but he knew how experiments worked. A theory couldn't be proved or discarded on the basis of one set of results. He'd promised himself that he'd watch Roy, that he'd actually notice whatever emotions he could glean, but that didn't mean he could leap on the first flicker of hope. Roy's behaviour tonight could be a one off, or something more consistent. The only way to find out was to keep looking. Maybe when he had more proof, he'd stop being such a fucking coward and _act_.

Ed licked his lips, closing his eyes as a flush warmed his face and a smile curved his mouth. If something as innocent as Roy's hand brushing against his set his body humming with pleasure, then what would fucking the man be like?

The tantalising thought lingered on, whispering in Ed's mind as sleep slowly drew its dark curtains across his conciousness and left him deep in his dreams.

******

Booming footsteps echoed across the room, fast and thunderous, and Ed's muscles coiled tight, prepared to leap out of the way. The long-sleeved top he was wearing clung to his sweat-slicked back, and his hair stuck to his face, tickling his skin. Muscles he hadn't known he had were aching, humming from the strain, and his chest heaved with each ragged breath.

Armstrong charged like a bull, all gleaming skin and unstoppable force. They'd agreed beforehand that they wouldn't bring any alchemy into play, not until Ed could be sure he was strong enough to handle purely physical attacks. He had to admit, that was the best idea he'd had for weeks. Alex was already winning, even without his famous transmutations.

Beefy hands reached for him, and Ed ducked under, swinging around to kick at the older man's hip. It was pulled, of course, the aim of this wasn't to hurt each other, but he still gave a grunt as his boot connected with Armstrong's body.

In a second, strong fingers wrapped around his left ankle, squeezing and twisting, and it was all Ed could do to follow through the movement, arching his back and lashing out to break the iron-strong grip. He managed it, but as soon as both feet hit the floor he realised his mistake. He'd judged the landing as if he still had the automail as a counterbalance, and the lack of weight made him pitch-forward.

It was the briefest stumble, but it gave Alex the opening he needed. He screwed his hand up into a fist and swung it upwards, stopping the barest fraction from Ed's jaw. It would have been a knock-out hit, and Ed spat a curse as he realised he'd been beaten.

'One more,' he said, scowling when Alex shook his head. 'Come on, Major, I need to practice!'

'We are out of time, Edward.' The man's bright blue eyes glanced at the clock high on the wall, and Ed made a tight sound of frustration. 'You are being too hard on yourself. Progress is slow, even for the best of us.'

'What progress?' Ed snapped, grabbing a towel from the nearby bench and scrubbing it over his face. 'I'm still favouring my left arm more than my right, and half the time I end up flat on my face because my balance is so fucked up.'

Armstrong's chuckle was gentle and friendly, but it still filled the room from wall to wall. 'You do not give yourself enough credit. You and I rarely spar, and yet within minutes you were already countering my normal techniques with skill. Perhaps it is an instinct you do not realise that you have, but your strength is not just in your body. It is also in your mind.'

When Ed looked at him blankly, Alex explained. 'Most men rush into a fight with no thought of anything but their fists. They struggle for survival, and they forget to learn from their enemy. You are always watching your opponent's moves and waiting for your moment. It is a valuable ability; one that you put to good use.'

Ed grunted, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. 'It's no good knowing what their next move is if I can't stay on my feet. Every time you hit me today was because I was off-balance. It's a weakness that, in a real fight, anyone would take advantage of.' He pitched the towel aside before looking up at Armstrong. 'Can you make it again tomorrow?'

'Of course,' Alex said, ducking his head respectfully. 'It would be an honour. Please pass on my regards to Brigadier-General Mustang, and let him know that I am available should he require any assistance in his investigation.'

With a quick nod of thanks, Ed trotted towards the shower room, leaving Armstrong to begin his normal workout. He could hear the reassuring clank of weights and steady, quiet grunts of effort. No doubt the massive man was pushing his muscles to the limit, and Ed grimaced, painfully aware that he simply didn't have the strength to stress his body any further today.

His shoulders were burning with heat, and his thighs ached from the constant dart and dodge. After a moment's hesitation, he paused in the middle of the empty shower room and went through the warm down procedure Izumi had taught him and Al all those years ago. Back then they had learned the price of skipping it was arms and legs almost too painful to move, and Ed recognised the warning signs of a body taxed beyond its limits.

When he was done, he checked around, making sure that there was no one in any of the stalls before stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower. The spray was lukewarm, and he cleaned himself before grabbing a towel and drying off. His locker was stocked with several sets of clothes which he'd brought in this morning, and he got dressed quickly. Al had made sure that he had plenty of long-sleeved tops to cover his arm, and the faithful leather pants hid Ed's leg from sight. By the time he got his gloves on he looked no different from normal.

'Hey, Boss. You decent?' Havoc's voice echoed in the tiled room, and Ed looked across at the doorway in surprise. Falman and Jean were both waiting on the threshold, and they flicked him a salute. Falman's was textbook precise, as always, but Havoc's was more of a wave as he said, 'The general ordered us to find you – he said something about searching the library?'

Ed nodded, holding a hair tie between his teeth as he pulled the wet tresses back into a ponytail. As soon as it was secured, he tossed his damp towel into the laundry basket and headed towards the waiting soldiers. 'Foster said something that sounded like a quote from a book. It's a crappy clue, but it's the only one we've got. All I know is that it's an opening passage. I'm hoping we can find it in the library.'

'Do you have an author name?' Falman asked. 'A title fragment? A year of publication?'

'Nope, I just know I've seen it somewhere.' Ed glanced over as Havoc groaned and, although Falman would never be so obvious, his expression was far from happy. 'Look, if Mustang sent you two to help then it must mean there's nothing more interesting to do. Isn't it better than paperwork?'

'Hate to tell you, Boss, but not everyone likes libraries as much as you do,' Havoc grouched, patting his pockets for matches as he retrieved a cigarette from behind his ear and clamped it in his mouth. 'For a start, they're no smoking.'

Ed snorted, snatching the slim cylinder from Jean's lips. 'So're headquarters,' he pointed out. 'Wait until we get outside.' He ignored Havoc's protests, leading the way out into the corridor and down the steps. It was only when they were on the parade ground that he gave the lieutenant back his prize, waiting impatiently for the man to light up before heading towards the library.

'Did I miss anything in Mustang's briefing?' he asked as they crossed the perimeter, looking over his shoulder when there was no immediate reply. He just caught Falman and Havoc exchanging a meaningful glance, and he stopped, crossing his arms and scowling. 'What did the bastard say about me?' he snarled. 'Whatever ridiculous order he's given you, just fucking ignore it, all right?'

'Actually, sir, since the Brigadier-General outranks you, then technically... . ' Falman trailed off, stifled to silence by the intensity of Ed's glare.

'He just told us to keep an eye on you, that's all,' Havoc said soothingly, flicking ash onto the ground as he carried on walking. 'Considering the trouble you and me found the last time we were at the library, you can hardly blame him for being cautious.'

Ed frowned, trying to read any hint of a lie in the lieutenant's face. The man studiously avoided his gaze, and Falman looked like he was reciting regulations in his head to stop his expression from giving anything away. Whatever Roy had told the two men, they weren't about to share it with Ed willingly, and it would be a waste of time trying to bully the answer out of them. With an inarticulate sound of anger, he strode off, leaving the two of them to follow.

Central was a-bustle with commuters and people going about their daily business. All of them were bundled up in hats, coats and scarves, and Ed hunched his shoulders in his jacket, wishing he'd thought to put more clothes on. He might not have the frigid automail clamped to his skin and bone any more, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the cold.

The two lions guarding the door were covered in rime, and the steps were slick and treacherous as the three of them ascended towards the doorway. Beyond, the book-lined halls were filled with quiet industry. Librarians scurried through the stacks, and people wandered among the shelves. Ed was about to head towards the alchemy section when a burly arm blocked his path.

It belonged to a grim looking soldier who glared at him with cool, grey eyes. 'Need to see some authorisation, kid.'

'Not a kid,' Ed snapped, tugging free the crumpled note that Mustang had written for him and watching the guard scowl down at the neat handwriting. 'I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist.'

The man glanced at Havoc and Falman, his lips pressed into a doubtful line before he nodded his acceptance. 'Sorry, sir, but after what happened here, we've had orders to tighten security. Do you know what you're looking for?'

'Yeah,' Ed replied, muttering a graceless “thanks” as he stepped around the man and crossed the floor towards the close, secluded shelves. He could hear the others following on behind, and Havoc's whisper seemed loud in the calm.

'They cleaned up quick. You wouldn't know that Foster had made a mess of the place. There were broken shelves and everything.' He ducked around a young woman with an arm full of books, smiling an apology as he matched Ed's pace. 'Now there aren't even any splinters in the carpet.'

'It was an embarrassment to the military,' Falman pointed out. 'They would want to remove all evidence of their failings as quickly as possible. Out of sight, out of mind.'

Ed turned another corner and huffed a sigh, taking in the row upon row of alchemy texts. Central library had one of the biggest collections in the world, and somewhere in here, there was the faintest chance of a lead. 'This is it,' he muttered. 'It's probably in here somewhere.'

'Oh, Boss, it's going to take weeks!' Havoc groaned, scratching the back of his head miserably.

'Then we should get started,' Falman replied matter-of-factly, turning to Ed as he asked, 'What exactly is it that we're looking for?'

He told them what Foster had said, not bothering to wait for their reaction to the sinister words as he reached for the first book, flicking through its opening pages hurriedly. 'If you find anything even remotely similar, then let me know. What Foster said might not be a direct quote.'

They worked quickly, each taking one of the large bookcases so that none of them were checking the same thing twice. The only sound was the rustle of paper and the occasional sigh of irritation from Havoc. Falman worked in silence, focussed on the job at hand, while Ed concentrated on speed, all the while bullying his memory for any tiny fact that could narrow down the search.

By the time he'd been through one lot of shelves, his nose was tickling from the dust, and his neck was stiff from reading at an awkward angle. More than once he'd been distracted by an interesting text, and only caught himself several pages in, already half-engrossed in the new, irrelevant information.

With a sigh, he shoved the latest volume back into place, trying not to snarl at the seemingly endless task ahead of him. He hated delays like this. Roadblocks on the path to discovery were something he had never been able to tolerate, and it could be days or weeks until he found what he was looking for. Even if he did find the book, there was no guarantee that it would be useful.

'Edward, are you looking for something?'

The soft voice made him look over his shoulder to see Sciezska standing at the end of the aisle, watching the three of them work. Her glasses were a little crooked and her arms were full of files, but her eyes were bright and earnest, and a friendly smile lit her face.

Ed stared at her for a second, wondering how he could have been such an idiot. Scieszka had worked in the library before and, more to the point, she had a perfect photographic memory. She might be under Hughes’ command these days, but that didn't meant she'd have forgotten anything from her old job. A smile of relief curved his lips as he realised his search might already be over. If she had even glanced at the first page of the book he was looking for, then she would remember it. How had he not thought of that before?

'Hey, Scieszka, can you help me?' he asked, watching her bob her head in quick agreement. 'I'm looking for an alchemy text where the first line says something about being deeper than flesh, blood and bone. It might be restricted, and it's probably about –'

'Human transmutation?' She grinned as Ed nodded. No doubt reading the obvious hope written all over his face. 'I know the one. It’s a strange book by a man called Acontius. There's only one paragraph of text in the whole thing. The rest of the pages are crammed full of numbers.’ She jostled the piles in her arms before passing them over to Ed. 'This way. It's probably in storage.'

Ed blinked at the bundle of paperwork before giving it to Falman and hurrying after Scieszka's retreating figure. 'Acontius?' he repeated. 'Are you sure? I was looking for his theories yesterday before I got –' he paused, not sure how much she knew about the Foster incident. '– interrupted.'

Scieszka's friendly face fell into a scowl, and her next words were hissed. 'A lot of alchemy books are being repaired after what that man did. It was disgraceful. Covers torn and pages everywhere.' She said it like she was describing a battlefield, and Ed had to stifle a smile as he followed her down some steps into one of the library's sub-floors. 'Acontius wrote two books. One is well-known, and the other is the obscure one with the numbers in it.' She sighed, and tucked her hair behind her ears. 'The repair rooms are down here, too. The copy of his theories are probably in there. If not then the chances are some despicable person's walked off with it.'

Ed followed her through the maze-like aisles of the storage shelves. Down here books were stacked in piles, forgotten and disused. He and Al had spent days in the murky gloom over the years, but it was still unfamiliar territory. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, and yet Scieszka moved with confidence, no doubt following a map locked away in her head.

Finally, she stopped in front of a dilapidated shelf and pulled free a slim volume. It was blank and non-descript. The title had faded long ago, and the pages were brittle, but the name “Acontius” was just about visible on the page, along with a strange symbol of three circles, one inside the other.

Carefully, she handed it over to him, watching like a hawk as he parted the covers and leafed through.

It was handwritten, and so old that he could almost smell the centuries on it. At least he was wearing gloves, so he couldn't break up the paper with the natural oils on his skin, but even the bindings were giving out. On the opening page, written in a neat script and signed by the author, was the passage that he remembered. Just as Scieszka had said, every other tissue-thin leaf was covered in densely packed numbers.

'Does it mean anything to you?' she asked, leaning over his shoulder. 'Most people think it's a basic cipher. If you look, the digits are written in different colours and styles, but no one's had any luck in breaking it.’

Ed nodded silently, feeling his heart sink. If this was the information that he needed, then it was imprisoned behind numerical bars. He'd worked on codes before and, if he was lucky, he'd find the key, but he could just as well spend years bending his mind to it and never find the answer.

'I'll give it a shot,' he said with a sigh. 'What about the other one, the one you said was probably damaged?'

‘Stay here,’ Scieska said. ‘I’ll go and ask for you. The back room is for library personnel only, and they get upset when someone breaks the rules.’

‘But you don’t work here anymore,’ Ed pointed out.

The young woman’s cheeks warmed with a blush, and she gave an embarrassed smile as she admitted, ‘I think one of the boys who works in there likes me. He normally makes an exception in my case.’ She hurried away, her voice drifting back over her shoulder. ‘Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back!’

With a sigh, Ed leant back against a nearby wall, running his fingers thoughtfully along the spine of the book in his hands. He should have known that finding the damn thing would only be half the problem. Whatever Acontius had discovered, he hadn't wanted the rest of the world to know. A normal person would ask why he bothered to keep a record at all. Why not just burn the notes and forget all about it, but discoveries couldn't be unmade. Instead he'd coded them, and they'd probably remained secret for years.

At least, until Foster came along. It hadn't slipped past Ed's attention that all the other books down here were dusty, mouldering where they lay. This one, for all its age, was clean. Someone had read it not that long ago and, while Scieszka had said that alchemists had worked on the code before, Ed would bet anything that he would Foster's fingerprints all over the pages.

The question was, why had he even mentioned it in the first place? Had the madman been able to break Acontius' cipher, or did he simply know that the book was somehow relevant to what he had been doing?

Ed scanned the sequences, trying to find some similarities between them, but every time he thought he'd found a pattern, it slipped back into obscurity. Only the tap of hurried footsteps made him look up from his search, and he saw Scieszka approach.

'Is it in the repair room?' Ed asked, grinning when she nodded. 'Great, when can I have it?'

Scieszka's dark eyes were tinged with apology, and she pushed her glasses up her nose as she began to lead the way back out to the main library. 'The book's in a bad state. Split bindings, torn pages. I asked them to deliver it to Brigadier-General Mustang's office when it was in a readable condition, but it could be a while.' His impatience must have shown on his face, because she ducked her head as she whispered, 'Sorry I couldn't get it for you straight away.'

'It's not your fault,' he replied hastily, waving the volume in his hand. 'You saved me hours when it came to searching for this one, and at least I know the other book's here and not missing. You really helped, Scieszka, thanks. I owe you one.'

'Well, in that case, do you mind helping me carry a few files back to headquarters?' she asked as they stepped back onto the main library floor. 'Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes is combing the public archives for some information, and I can't take everything he needs by myself, not in one trip.'

'Sure,' Ed agreed, trying not to let his reluctance into his voice. He was itching to get back and start work on the code, but ten more minutes to repay a favour wouldn't hurt. 'Let me check this out and I'll come and help.'

By the time he'd gone through the process of showing the librarian his scrappy authorisation and dealing with the small problem of a crippling fine for some late books, Scieszka had already roped Falman and Havoc into helping her. Their arms were loaded to chin height with dossiers, and the young woman picked up the few that remained and led the way, thanking them profusely.

'Boss, are you coming?' Havoc called over his shoulder, turning around with a frown when Ed didn't answer. 'Boss?'

'I'm going to find somewhere quiet to work on this, just for an hour or two,' Ed replied. 'The office will be too loud, and if I need any other books, the library's the best place to be. Tell Mustang he can find me here if he needs me.'

Havoc was considering arguing with him, he could see it in the man's eyes, but a quick glance around at the bustling soldiers and security was enough to put his mind at rest. 'I'll come back for you myself,' the lieutenant promised. 'I know it might be too hard for you, but try and stay out of trouble, all right?'

With a grunt of agreement, Ed watched them go before he picked his way towards the back of the library. The books was already splayed in his hands again, and his feet followed the well-known route to his favourite reading room. It was quiet, secluded, and out of the way: perfect for when he didn't want to be disturbed.

What was hidden behind Acontius' code was important. He felt it in his gut and in his heart. Why would it be hidden otherwise. Perhaps it wouldn't be the answer to his problems, but he'd bet a year's wages that unravelling the cipher's mysteries would be the first step towards getting his alchemy back.

It was time to get to work.


	11. Chapter 11

Roy sat at his desk, tapping his pen on a sheet of paper as he frowned at the clock above the door to his office. The hand ticked its way solemnly around the face but, despite its steady march, the hours crawled by. Hawkeye was keeping him supplied with his usual flow of paperwork, but that only underscored his boredom and the ever-increasing anxiety that was gnawing at his gut.

It had been three days since they had finally taken Foster into custody, dragging him out from his hidey-hole and wrapping him in chains. Yet, despite the time that had passed, Heath's dire predictions hadn't come true. No one had requested to talk to Foster. Perhaps the general was having more luck than he'd thought at keeping the curious at bay, but the silence was beginning to get on Roy's nerves.

If this had been straightforward, the assignment would have ended with Foster's capture, but nothing was ever that simple. Roy got the feeling that the man was one part of a bigger plot which seethed in the air, unseen but sensed all the same. Central Command was subdued, the atmosphere tight and breathless like the calm before the storm, and Roy was growing tired of waiting for the next problem to make itself known.

All he could think was that something big was about to happen, and he wouldn't know if he was ready for it until the first events began to unfold.

Then there was Ed. He'd found some kind of book in the library, something written in code, and Roy hadn't seen him for more than a couple of minutes since. As always, he'd thrown himself into the research, pushing himself and his mind to the limits as he grappled to find the key that would unlock the book's secrets. It was like the Stone all over again: so focussed, so intense, and with that same edge of desperation, as if failure wasn't an option he dared to consider.

Roy pressed his lips into a thin line as his stomach twisted itself in knots. He was more worried about Ed than he dared to admit out loud. Reports had been filtering back to him about Ed's welfare, and he remembered Hughes' words of warning back at Foster's apartment.

If Ed discovered he couldn't recover his alchemy, then he would fall apart. From what he'd heard, Roy was beginning to wonder if Fullmetal was already reaching his breaking point.

The worst part was that he wanted to help, and he couldn't. There was literally nothing he could do. He'd encouraged Ed to train his body, to learn new skills to tide him over in the interim, and both Armstrong and Hughes reported that he'd been showing up to their sessions without fail. Alex saw him at daybreak, and Maes was teaching him the basics of knife-fighting in the afternoon. Every other hour of the day and night, Ed was either in the library or back at his apartment, intent on trying to crack the cipher.

Blinking down at his paperwork, Roy sighed, pulling a face as his heart squeezed a little in selfish disappointment. Nothing more had come of the inadvertent touch he and Ed had shared. He had thought that it might be a starting point to something more, but it seemed he was wrong. He'd been trying not to think about it – kept telling himself that there were more important concerns at hand - but as soon as his thoughts latched onto Ed, they followed the inevitable path back to that moment.

It had been an accident, something born of chance. He hadn’t been paying attention to how far Ed had gone along the bookshelf, and they’d reached for the same volume in the same moment. Ed had got the book, and Roy had got Ed. It was such an innocent thing, the curve of his hand over Ed’s fingers, newly made flesh.

Perhaps that added an element of the unique to what should have been an otherwise mundane caress. All Roy knew was that it was like lighting a quick-burning fuse that raced along his nerves and bloomed with heat all through his body. He had been touched much more intimately many times before, but he couldn’t recall a single one that had made him feel quite like _that_ , and he didn’t know what to make of it.

Roy took a deep breath, feeling the worry in his stomach twist into something hotter and shift lower, warmed by the memory. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t be the one to chase Ed but, in that moment, it had taken everything in him not to close the distance and lay his claim on those breathlessly parted lips.

Ed’s reaction had fuelled his own desire, calling like for like. He had never known that gold eyes could darken to bronze or that Ed could flush with anything other than anger, but now he couldn’t forget the sight of him. It could have happened there and then: they could take the first step to changing this relationship from professional to personal.

Roy snorted gracelessly to himself, scrubbing a hand through his hair. Hell, if he was honest, most of his body had been focussed on taking the twelve or so steps to Ed’s bedroom and just _taking_ him. The strength of his need had been both frightening and captivating. Roy had been watching Ed for anything like permission – a tip of his head, a heated glance... . Instead he’d seen the dull flare of doubt.

That, more than anything, had told Roy what had to happen next. He couldn’t push Ed into anything, and so he’d stepped back. Not far, but it had been enough to shift the balance and change the edge to the air.

It was the safe course of action, the right thing to do, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

'Hey, Roy. Is anyone home?' A pale blur caught his attention, and he blinked dazedly as Hughes continued to wave his hand in front of his face. 'You were miles away. You didn't even hear me knock.'

'Sorry.' Roy rubbed a hand across his forehead, frowning at the now ink-spattered report in front of him before pushing it aside. 'Have you got something for me?'

Maes nodded, gesturing with a thick, beige file. 'Doctor Morraine finally gave up the information on Foster. It definitely makes interesting reading.' He pulled it back as Roy reached out for it, jerking his head towards the fireplace. 'Why don't you sit on the couch and read it? You might as well be comfortable.'

Roy raised an eyebrow, knowing that Hughes' suggestion was less about his welfare and more about making sure they couldn't be overheard. Every day, Maes or one of his men was in here looking for new listening devices and doing whatever was necessary to make sure at least one portion of Roy's office was safe from prying ears. It seemed that someone out there really wanted to keep tabs on him.

Silently, Roy obliged, settling on the couch with a sigh before tweaking the file from Maes' grasp and opening the cover. 'Is there anything particular I should be looking at?' he asked, shifting a little as Hughes settled next to him. The older man wasn't so relaxed. He perched on the edge of the cushions, his elbows on his knees and his eyes staring fixedly at the fireplace.

'Read the first page. That's the psych evaluation he had when he attempted the State exam.'

Doing as he was told, Roy skimmed the sparse document, picking out the salient points with ease. 'He was fine. Nothing beyond the normal human neuroses. The worst thing they have to say is that he had obsessive tendencies.' He looked up at Maes, watching him nod his head sadly. 'What the hell happened? The man we have in the cells is a long way from this.' He tapped the page pointedly before turning it over.

'The next documents are about a year later. He was referred to Doctor Morraine by his employer because of problems with authority and respect for the workplace rules. It's all pretty standard stuff, roughly what you'd expect from someone trying to rebel against a system that they resented, but look at where he worked.'

'Mendleton Labs: the place we found him.' Roy raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'That cannot be a coincidence.

Maes shook his head, brushing his palms together absently as he continued to summarise what was in the file. 'He was quite high in the research team and pulling good money. Then one day it looks like there was some kind of accident; he was exposed to some chemicals, and suddenly he was no longer an employee at all, not really. He was a lab rat. I don't know what the directors were expecting to happen, but it was shortly after that when his mental state began to change.'

Roy read through the doctor's notes, watching the first themes emerge in his psychological behaviour and gradually intensify, becoming more and more focussed on the certainty that he'd been cheated from his rightful place as a State Alchemist. At first it was general discontent, as you might expect from someone who felt they'd missed their true calling but, as time passed, his hatred found a face in the boy who'd beaten him to his goal.

When the labs had collapsed and been abandoned in the space of a night, it seemed Foster had moved on. He had been unable to achieve a good position, and so his discontent worsened. Through it all Morraine had been there monitoring him. The decline in Foster's mental health was well-documented, but something didn't quite make sense.

'I don't think the drug under Mendleton Labs can be a psychotic,' Roy said, frowning in confusion. 'It would be pointless. Biological weapons need to work quickly to subdue a target, and Foster has taken years to reach this point.'

'I know,' Maes said, sitting back with a sigh. 'Maybe that wasn't what they originally intended to do, maybe his mental health isn't related to the accident at work at all, but I don't see anything else wrong with him, do you? The timing's very convenient for it not to be related.' He scrubbed his hands over his face and gave Roy a tired smile. 'We should probably talk to Bellamy. You're right, it doesn't make sense.'

'Especially when you add in all of Morraine's reports,' Roy said quietly. 'Foster's behaviour was escalating, but not that fast. He was in control of himself, simply showing higher levels of aggression and obsession right up to their last meeting which was –' He paused, blinking at the date on the final page. 'Barely a fortnight ago? How can he have gone from lucid and controlled to what he is now in so little time?'

Hughes shrugged. 'Don't ask me. My knowledge of psychology is fairly limited. The doctor has said he can come in for interviews if necessary. I didn't want to disclose too much to him about Foster over the phone, but it might be worth getting him to look at his patient now. He might be able to tell us something we don't know.'

Roy grunted, pitching the file forward onto the low coffee table in front of the fire and folding his arms. 'Getting the bastard to talk would be a start. I've tried to interrogate him several times, and he won't say a thing. Threats, promises, logic – none of it works. The only time he showed any emotion was when I mentioned that Ed was trying to undo his work.'

'He got angry?'

'No.' Roy's voice dropped to a growl, and he narrowed his eyes at the dancing fire as he remembered the sick twist to the prisoner's smile. 'Happy, but in a cruel way.'

The office fell quiet as he and Hughes sat side-by-side in silence. Only the crackle of flames in the grate and the distant sounds of paperwork and telephones from beyond the door provided any sound until Maes took a deep breath. 'You're not going to like this, but I think Foster might be more communicative with Ed. Now that he's realised the military won't help him, all that's left to give him joy and satisfaction is the pain he's caused.'

Roy scowled. The thought of Fullmetal and Foster in the same room was enough to tighten every nerve in his body. The prisoner might still be restrained, but he could be just as abusive with words as anything else, and Ed's temper was probably frayed from days of research and not enough sleep. It would be a disaster waiting to happen.

'You look like you've just bitten into a lemon,' Hughes observed, turning to look at him. 'I don't like the idea much either, but I'm fairly certain that it won't be our choice forever. Ed's tearing himself half apart with this code. It's only a matter of time before he decides he needs to talk to Foster and get some answers. Wouldn't it be better to arrange that on our terms, rather than have Ed barge in himself without having anyone to keep an eye on him?'

Roy rounded his shoulders, wishing he could deny his friend's logic. Eventually, he nodded, adding in a mutter, 'It should probably be you who goes in with him. Foster is certain that something's going on between me and Ed, and if we're there together, he'll probably just give us a litany of accusations and abuse.'

The words were almost too heavy to speak, but Roy knew that he couldn't be with Ed while Foster was being interrogated. It would only cause the man to focus on the apparent attraction, and he wasn't sure he could keep a hold of his control if Foster started making comments. It would be too tempting to mete out a quick and painful retribution for his callous words, and Roy couldn't expose himself in that way. It would be seen as a validation of Foster's claims, and he had to avoid that at all cost.

'You know,' Maes said thoughtfully, speaking in the measured voice of someone who has had a bright idea, 'we've just had new two-way mirrors installed in some of the cells in Intelligence. They would allow an observer to see into the room without Foster being aware of them.' He grinned, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'It'd be helpful to have someone watch Foster's reactions to Ed, someone who has had knowledge of the case from the start.'

'Someone like me?' Roy asked, smiling ruefully at his friend's nod. 'Do you really need someone to study Foster, or are you just trying to make me feel better?'

'Honestly? A bit of both.' Hughes stood up, glancing at the clock before looking down at Roy. 'Just because Foster won't communicate verbally, that doesn't mean his body's not telling us things. I'll need to concentrate on what's being said, and having you there will make my job a bit easier. Additionally, it means you can keep an eye on Ed without making both of you targets for Foster's bullshit.'

'You never know, Ed might not ask to see him,' Roy pointed out with more hope than belief, giving a resigned sigh at Maes' obvious doubt. 'Fine, when the time comes and Ed wants to talk to Foster, I'll let you know.'

'It won't be long,' Hughes said softly. 'I only see Ed for an hour every day, but even I can see the hardship this research is causing. It's driving him to distraction.'

'Is it affecting your sessions with him?' Roy asked, knowing the answer before Maes even shook his head. Ed might hardly ever ask for help, but once someone chose to assist him, he acknowledged that sacrifice and, for the most part, cooperated. 'How's he doing with the knife fighting? You've not said anything one way or the other.'

Maes stepped back as Roy got to his feet, moving closer to the fire to gather some of its warmth. His lips were curved in a crooked grin, and he gave a quick, self-depreciating shrug. 'I have to admit, I had my concerns about trying to teach him anything, but he's a surprisingly quick study. I don't think he has above-average talent with a knife, particularly, but he has incredible focus, and that's allowing him to pick up things a lot faster than a normal novice.'  
  
'He has had prior experience,' Roy replied. 'His weapon of choice was his automail blade.'

Hughes made a dismissive noise. 'That's completely different. A blade attached to the back of the wrist is wielded with the same muscle groups and movements as throwing a punch. Ed was using his hand-to-hand skills to his advantage. When the weapon's gripped in your hand, it's a different kind of combat. He has to get used to that, and he's doing a good job of it.' Maes lowered his voice a little, making Roy tip his head closer to listen. 'For all his concerns, the changes to his body aren't impeding him much. He's adapting very quickly.'

Alex had said the same thing. Every morning, he sparred with Edward, and although Roy had never asked for any kind of report, Armstrong still kept him informed. The first day had been the hardest, but whereas most people forgot half of the things they learned between one lesson and the next, Ed seemed to retain it all. He pushed his body to different limits, took in the data he got from those attempts and adapted seamlessly to compensate for any flaws.

'Good. With any luck, if he's able to gain more control of his body he won't get so frustrated with Foster's array.' It was a feeble hope, but one in which Roy was happy to put his faith. 'Thank you, Hughes.'

'Don't mention it. Speaking of Ed, I'd better get going. Our next lesson is meant to start in ten minutes,' Maes said, turning towards the door and standing aside as Hawkeye stepped across the threshold with another armful of files requiring Roy's signature. 'Have fun!'

Roy sighed, casting a good-natured glare at his friend's receding back before returning to his desk and the work that awaited him. There really was no rest for the wicked and, despite the continuing anxiety that hummed through his body, Roy knew there was nothing else he could do but carry on as normal.

Hours ticked past as he read through the papers that Hawkeye saw fit to place in front of him. He signed his name with a flourish where necessary and took in everything, from the most boring logistics to the most esoteric reports. It was an intense focus, one that he only found when he was trying not to dwell on bigger problems, and it wasn’t until a familiar voice from the outer office reached his ears that he looked up.

The door was flung open by a booted foot, which almost immediately hooked around the wood’s edge to close it again. Some things never changed, and heaven forbid that Ed should ever knock like a normal person.

He looked tired, Roy noticed, both in body and in mind. Indigo smudges rested under Ed's eyes, and his face was haggard, as if he'd spent too much time reading and not enough eating or sleeping, which was probably the case. Despite his confident entrance, Ed was not his usual vivid self. He covered the distance between the door and the desk more slowly than usual, and when he looked up his gaze wasn't defiant or challenging, it was weary.

'I need to talk to Foster,' he admitted in a voice that was shot through with self-disgust, as though he was acknowledging some kind of dire failure. 'I need to know if the fucker decoded that book or if he was just yanking my chain.' Ed shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing towards the fire in the grate as he added, 'Hughes said he'd take me, but I needed to okay it with you.'

Roy glanced at the clock, realising that the afternoon had melted away. It was almost the end of the working day, and most of his paperwork was finished. Even Hawkeye couldn't comment if he left a few minutes early. 'I'll come with you,' he replied, already getting to his feet. 'Although I don't know how much luck you'll have. Foster's not answered any questions since that first night.'

Ed frowned, but Roy didn't know whether it was at the alchemist's silence or Roy's decision to accompany him until he said, 'Do you and Hughes both need to be there?'

'Only Maes will be in the room with you. I'll just be watching,' Roy explained. 'The Intelligence division have some holding cells with two-way mirrors. I'll be able to see what's going on, but Foster won't know I'm there.' He moved around the desk, walking towards the door as Ed fell into step at his side.

'What's the point of that?' he muttered. 'I'm not going to kill the bastard, if that's what you're worried about.'

Roy glanced across, feeling a jolt of surprise as he realised that the top of Ed's head came up to his jaw. He couldn't possibly have grown overnight, and Roy's mind scrambled for an explanation before he realised the difference. No automail. Ed had always slouched, making his meagre height less. Roy had always thought that it was a natural teenage posture, but now he realised how much the heavy metal had dragged the young man down. It seemed that his body was finally shedding the physical memory of that load. He'd still never be tall, but even an inch or two made a noticeable difference.

'It's not you I'll be keeping my eye on,' he replied, realising Ed was still waiting for an answer, 'it's Foster. If we can't get vocal answers from him then all we have are his actions. Maybe we can find a sore topic for him, something that will get him to break his silence.' Opening the door to the outer office, Roy let Ed go through first before following on behind. He quickly told Hawkeye where he would be before stepping into the corridor and heading for the Intelligence Department. 'I take it from your request that you haven't been able to break the code?'

Ed's lips pressed into a thin, flat line as he shook his head. 'It's probably something really fucking obvious, but I don't know what.' He scraped a hand across his forehead, but it did nothing to wipe away the deep lines of stress that were etching their way into his skin. 'Even after all the time I've spent on it so far, it could still be meaningless.'

He looked so tense – miserable and angry at himself and the world, and Roy had to clench his fingers into fists to stop himself from reaching out and offering comfort. It was clear that, in the few days since he'd been in the Elrics' living room helping Ed search for the book, things had only gone downhill. Perhaps Ed's fears of never getting his alchemy back were beginning to take hold, or maybe it was simply the frustration of slow progress, but it was obvious that Ed was suffering from the strain.

There was nothing Roy could do, nothing he could say to give Ed the inspiration he needed, and any reassurances would be a waste of breath. He could feel the angry tension flooding off of Ed in waves, strong enough to put even him on his guard. Ed was unpredictable at the best of times and now – annoyed, confused and, beneath all that, scared – there was no telling what lengths he might go to in order to get the information he needed.

They walked in silence towards Intelligence. Ed looked neither left nor right, and it was clear that he didn't notice Roy sneaking worried glances his way. He was trying to get a handle on the tempest of emotions that clouded Ed's distinctive features, but there was nothing there he could really grasp. It was all too much, and he wondered at the change in Fullmetal. A few days ago he'd had hope.

Now he looked as if he was about to fall apart.

Rounding the corner, he saw Hughes waiting for them. His friend looked tense and worried, and he jerked his head towards the thick metal door that pocked the wall. 'We moved him in a few hours ago with Heath's authorisation.'

'How did Foster react to the change of scenery?' Roy asked curiously.

'Didn't even blink. I'm really beginning to wonder if there's anyone home up there anymore.' Hughes tapped a finger to his forehead. 'He eats, sleeps, everything he needs to do to live, but it's almost automatic.' Maes nodded to a couple of men, giving them the order to go in and restrain the prisoner before he motioned to another door, wood, this time. 'You'll be in there, Roy. You should be able to see and hear everything, but we won't be able to communicate with you.'

'Fine. Let's see if we can get anything out of him this time.'

With a brief backward glance at Ed, Roy walked into the room that Maes had pointed out, standing still as he let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The only light came from the cell next door, and his eyes were drawn to the scene. It was strange, like watching a moving framed picture, and he waited as two soldiers led Foster to the chair in the middle of a bland white chamber. It was angled so that Roy would be able to see Foster in profile, and he watched as the guards clamped his ankles in place and tethered the stocks that held his wrists apart with a piece of chain.

The other end of the cell was separated off by bars, and Roy could just see a pallet bed and everything else needed to keep Foster imprisoned. He wouldn't need to be moved from here until the trial, and it gave anyone the chance to observe the man unseen. If Roy was honest with himself, the secrecy bothered him, but he understood better than most why it was necessary. In the presence of others, people had many masks. It was only when they were alone that they were really themselves.

Foster was like a puppet with no strings, meekly allowing the guards to lock him in place. His eyes were staring and vacant but, as soon as Hughes and Ed walked in, Roy saw his focus sharpen, and his inanimate face twitched to life. It wasn't Maes who had caught his attention, but Ed, and bile rose in Roy's throat as he saw the sheer, untainted hatred brimming in Foster's gaze. Chained hands curled into fists, fingers claw-like as he struggled to be free.

If he weren’t held down, he would have attacked Ed, that much was clear. Part of Roy wanted to yank Ed out of there and take him far away, but this was the most reaction they'd had out of Foster since interviewing him with Heath. For everyone else he was a marionette, but, for Ed, he was a monster. He might be leashed, but that did nothing to restrain the loathing in his gaze.

Most people would have flinched from it, but Ed never conformed to the standard. If he was remotely disturbed by the snarl of Foster's mouth or the way he leant forward in the chair, pulling at the ties that bound him in place, then he didn't show any of it.

Roy felt a strange flicker of pride at that. Ed was neither cowed nor frightened. There was no sign that he was anything but the strong, powerful alchemist that he had always been, and Roy’s heart jumped to see that confidence back again, even if it was a mask for Foster’s sake.

‘You found it.’

It wasn’t even a question, just a flat statement that fell from Foster’s lips like stones. His mouth was stretched back in an eerie grin as he watched Ed stop in the middle of the room, a bare inch out of Foster’s reach. There was anger in his stance; he was as defiant and bristling as when he stood in front of Roy’s desk, defending his latest disaster of an assignment, but this time there was a more vicious edge to his fury.

There was no compassion or sympathy in his gaze, nothing there to soften the jagged edges of his temper, but at least Ed was still hanging onto his control. Roy tried to put himself in Ed's shoes, tried to imagine standing in front of a man who had taken all the certainties of his life and ripped them away, and somehow he doubted he would have managed to cling to his composure.

Yet Ed was almost calm. His breathing was a little quick, and there was a faint tint of angry colour to his face. His jaw was set in hard lines and his shoulders were rigid, but those were the only signs of his feelings. On Ed, normally so visibly emotional and caught up in his passions, Roy had to admit the façade was an achievement. At first glance, he looked merely annoyed, rather than almost murderous.

With a whisper of a curse, Roy remembered that he was here to watch Foster, not stare at Ed like a starving man eyeing a three-course meal. He dragged his gaze back to the restrained man, but he hadn’t moved. He was waiting for a reaction with the rigid patience of someone who had lost touch with his humanity. Other people would have sighed or scowled at the silence, but it was as if he had switched off, as endlessly patient as a statue.

‘I found it,’ Ed eventually confirmed, leaning his weight on his right hip and pursing his lips before he asked, ‘How long did it take you to break the code?’

Roy let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He had made it his business to know how to manipulate a conversation through body language alone, and how to read the gestures of others. Ed had none of that experience, and yet it seemed that he was instinctively following the right path.

Ed didn’t lower his gaze or let any of the aggression seep out of his stance. He remained dominant and in charge, rather than showing anything remotely like submission. He also didn’t reduce himself to petty remarks, something that was all too tempting when faced with an arrogant prisoner. He was keeping this interrogation about gathering information, no matter what his personal feelings. Roy was impressed and, he admitted in the silence of his head, more than a bit surprised by Ed’s maturity.

As far as Roy knew, he’d never even officially questioned anyone before. It was one thing to beat a confession out of a madman amid the bloody wreck of his creation, but a different matter altogether to lower your fists and follow the strict rules of the military. One wrong move from Ed and Foster would have the upper hand, but it seemed like he wasn’t going to give him that chance.

Foster’s eyes darted to the right, and his next words were hurried and uneven, lost in a haze of memory. ‘Long. I remember – remember more than one winter. So cold. Hard to turn the pages.’ He rubbed his fingers together, almost child-like before his head snapped up, his gaze turning hard and merciless as he growled, ‘But I broke it. Tore it apart and found the truth inside the lies. No one else had done it. No one else. Not even you.’ The sneer twisted his face. ‘Some genius.’

Roy made a noise of disbelief. Did Foster really think that would work? Ed didn’t think of himself as a genius anyway, and other people’s opinions on his abilities were meaningless to him. Perhaps Roy should be grateful that Foster had no clue how to push Ed’s buttons or flip his switches, how to stir that simmering pot of anger into a full-scale eruption, but all he felt was a twisted kind of pity. Foster was out of his league. Even without his alchemy, Ed was still too much of a challenge for him.

‘You expect me to believe you?’ The words were like a gauntlet thrown down between them, and Roy watched Foster’s eyes widen in disbelief. ‘Why should I take your word for anything?’ Ed asked. ‘For all I know you just muttered the first line of that book to distract me – send me on a wild goose chase.’

‘No, I broke it! I broke it!’ Foster had been lucid enough before, but now it seemed to be slipping. He licked his lips nervously, animal whimpers catching in his throat as he hunched in his seat.

'Prove it,' Ed snapped. 'Prove you know what the fuck you're talking about and tell me how you did it.'

It almost worked – almost. Roy saw the words lined up ready on Foster's tongue, ready to spill forth in his eagerness to prove his supremacy, but something shuttered his face, something above and beyond the insanity, cool and cold. It was like a split-personality, different in almost every way and, even as he watched, the discrepancies between one and the other became more marked.

'Nice try,' Foster growled. 'Why don't you work it out yourself? Is it too difficult for you, or is it just that you're too busy servicing the soldiers?' He sneered then, letting repulsion seep across his face as Ed scowled. 'Did it hurt when I ripped out the only thing that makes your life worth living? Does it hurt now, knowing you're never going to get it back?'

Ed moved suddenly, and Roy jerked forward without thinking, almost banging his hand on the glass as he reached out in a vain attempt to restrain him. Yet it wasn't a punch that Ed was about to throw. It was a temptation, that much was written in the clench of his fists, but something pulled him up short, and the anger on his face dissolved beneath suspicion and doubt as he looked down at Foster as if really seeing him for the first time.

Roy watched him bend down until he was on Foster's level, gold eyes taking in something that he couldn't make out from this angle. Roy shot a glance at Hughes; he stood by the door, alert and observant, but doing nothing to interrupt.

Suddenly, Foster lunged. Roy twitched in alarm, sucking in a breath as Ed dodged a bite that would probably have drawn blood. Ed’s hand shot out, gripping Foster's jaw tight and holding the struggling man still as he stared at him, his expression increasingly disturbed as the prisoner twisted and snarled.

Roy watched, his breath locked up in his chest as he waited for the moment to end. From a distance, Ed looked almost like he was in a trance, as intent as he was on any alchemy text. What the hell was he looking at? What could he see?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. Roy had no doubt that Ed had seen some gruesome sights over the years. Blood, gore and pain had all charted their stories across his life, but Roy had rarely seen him look so shaken and off balance. Ed could take horrors in his stride that would make most men flinch, but now he looked like the rug had been pulled out from under his feet, taken aback by whatever he had found within Foster’s appearance.

Finally, he let his hand fall, stepping back beyond Foster’s reach as he blinked himself awake. For a moment, Ed glanced towards the glass, looking right into Roy’s eyes. He couldn’t possibly know where he was standing, but it was enough to send an icy thrill of unease down Roy’s spine. Something was wrong, and his thoughts gibbered like mad things as he tried to guess at what had stopped Ed in his tracks.

‘Can’t work your wiles on me,’ Foster muttered, head down-bent and shoulders hunched. ‘Not like you have on the rest of them. Aren’t you going to answer me? Aren’t you going to tell me if it hurts?’

‘It’s fuckin’ agony,’ Ed retorted, with just enough indifferent sarcasm to gloss over the truth in his reply. ‘Hughes, did you want to ask this bastard anything else?’

Roy watched as Hughes stepped forward, reciting one query after another. Foster refused to answer Maes directly, instead watching Ed like a hawk until the young man repeated them impatiently. Perhaps it was a game to him, a little ploy for attention, or maybe his mind only recognised Ed as someone worthy of communication but, whatever the reason, he would only talk to Fullmetal.

The silver lining of that situation was that Foster wouldn't answer anyone else who tried to question him, but that wasn’t much comfort to Roy; he was too concerned over Foster’s motives. Ed had been this man’s target, his victim, and now the fixation continued. A personal vendetta was one thing, but such things usually ended when the conflict was won. Foster shouldn’t see Ed as anyone of importance now that he’d taken what he wanted, but it was obvious that his obsession lingered.

Eventually, Hughes turned away, opening the door and calling the guards inside to take Foster back to his normal cell. He stood aside to let them pass, every line of his body indicating his eagerness to get away, but Ed was the opposite. He lingered like a moth drawn to the flame, watching Foster with an unreadable expression on his face. If Roy didn’t know better, he would have thought there was something like pity in Ed’s expression, but that didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t until Ed finally walked away from Foster’s hateful stare that Roy left the small, dark room, blinking in the brightness of the corridor before he turned to Hughes and Ed, a question already on the tip of his tongue.

‘Ed, what did you see?’

Gold eyes met his. They were full of tangled emotions but, for a moment, wry humour with a hint of anger gained supremacy. ‘I thought you weren’t in there to watch me?’

‘It was kind of hard to ignore,’ Hughes said quietly, looking both ways along the corridor before he held his hands out, herding both Ed and Roy ahead of him. ‘Walk and talk. There’s less chance of someone overhearing the whole conversation that way.’

Their footsteps beat out a slow, steady rhythm as they did as they were told, and it wasn’t until they were away from the bustle of Intelligence that Roy repeated, ‘What did you see?’

Ed rubbed at the nape of his neck with his gloved hand before he gave a shrug. ‘I’m not really sure. I mean – I am sure, but I don’t understand. I don’t know why it would… .’ He let out a deep breath, scrubbing tiredly at his face before he mumbled, ‘When I looked into his eyes properly, it wasn’t just Foster looking back. It was the Gate.’

Roy jerked his head around, staring at Ed’s profile. ‘The Gate?’ he echoed.

‘As in, the alchemy Gate?’ Hughes asked, frowning in confusion when Ed nodded. ‘So, what? It’s in him somehow?’

Ed made an irritated noise as he shook his head. ‘No – I – I don’t know. It didn't feel like that. It felt different.' It was unlike Ed to be so vague about anything, and Roy watched the annoyance pinch his face as he added, 'I just know the Gate when I see it. I have no fucking clue how it happened or what it’s doing, but I’m not so stupid that I won’t believe what I saw.’ His voice dropped to a whisper, a quiet confession meant for Roy’s ears only. ‘Wasn’t scared of him before I saw that.’

‘Do you think the code you’re trying to break might tell us more about it?’ Roy asked quietly, trying desperately to keep Ed focussed on the facts. He wanted to see determination in Ed’s face, or anger, or something – _anything_ except the slow creep of despair that already clouded his gaze.

‘Maybe. If I can even break the stupid thing,’ Ed replied. ‘I hoped Foster would slip up and tell me, but I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.’ He closed his eyes, looking so painfully tired that Roy’s own mind buzzed with exhausted sympathy. After a moment, Ed blinked them open again and began to walk once more, trudging down the hollow corridors of Central Command as Hughes and Roy shared a concerned glance behind his back.

Calm descended around them, pressing down on Roy’s ears as his mind roared with questions. He wanted to ask Ed if he was sure about what he’d seen, but he knew it was pointless. Ed wouldn’t lie about that, and he wouldn’t even mention it if he weren’t certain. Roy wanted to reach out and grab his wrist, pull him up short and shake him just to get some kind of reaction – even the sizzle and flare of Ed’s temper would be better than this quiet, muted young man who he barely recognised – but he wasn't sure that Ed would even feel it.

When they reached the front door of headquarters, Ed turned to face Roy, dull eyes glancing briefly at Hughes before he turned away, hand already out-stretched to shove his way through. 'I'll let you know when I've broken the fuckin' code,' he said, pausing as he added, 'unless you've got an assignment for me?'

Even if he did, there was no way Roy would send Ed off like this, not when he was vulnerable emotionally, as well as physically. Yet he didn't want to push him back to the books either, didn't want to settle him in front of one text after another that did nothing to strengthen his hope, but what choice did he have? 'Carry on with your research,' he said quietly. 'I'll let you know if you're needed in the office.'

The words sounded cold coming from his own mouth, far too indifferent for his liking, but if Ed noticed then he didn't mention it. He shouldered his way outside with nothing more than a nod, leaving him and Hughes standing side-by-side in the large entrance hall to the command building.

'Shit,' Roy whispered, standing aside so he wasn't blocking the door and pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to clear the scatter of fears and worries form his mind and _think_.

'It's not going to get any better,' Maes said quietly, his voice too soft to be overheard by anyone passing by, 'not until he's got his alchemy back, and there's no guarantee that's ever going to happen.'

'I know,' Roy replied wretchedly, 'but what the hell can I do? If I try and comfort him, he'll read it as me thinking he's weak. There's nothing I can do to help him with the array, not really, and I'm already doing everything I can to make sure he doesn't end up in the military labs. What else is left?'

Hughes leaned back next to him, staring down at his feet as he spoke. 'He needs someone to talk to – someone who might comprehend a fraction of what he's going through. You only have to look at Al to know that he doesn't understand his brother's feelings about this, no matter how hard he tries, and any non-alchemist won't remotely comprehend what's been taken from him, but you do, don't you?'

'I can't listen if he won't talk to me,' Roy pointed out.

'You don't know what he'll do until you try, Roy.' Hughes picked at some dust on his uniform sleeve, flicking it away before he met Roy's gaze, strong and unwavering. 'If you want to help Ed, then follow him, talk to him, but don't expect him to pour his heart and soul out without getting something from you in return.' He gave a wry smile. 'Friendship doesn't work that way. You need to give him a reason to trust you, or you'll get nothing.'

'You make it sound so easy.' Roy sighed and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the answers he needed in the distant stretch of white plaster. 'Whatever Ed and I have, I don't think it can be called friendship.'

'Perhaps not. Perhaps it's more than that, but it's definitely nothing less.' Hughes shrugged. 'It's your choice, Roy, but Ed needs someone to be there for him.' Maes pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk away, looking over his shoulder with a touch of soft mischief that made him look years younger.

'Wouldn't it be best if that someone was you?'


	12. Chapter 12

Ed sighed, folding his arms on the wall of the bridge and resting his chin on his sleeve. Below him, inky water flowed between frost-covered banks, picking out the colours of the evening and dancing with ghostly reflections. It was hypnotic, and Ed stared blankly downwards as the world carried on around him.

He should be heading back to the apartment, back to Al and the waiting code, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His head was too full with the weight of his ideas and the shattered pieces of too many failed attempts. He couldn’t really remember when he’d last slept, not properly. A few hours here and there didn’t count. Besides, the cipher was there when he shut his eyes, burning through his mind like hot lead. There was no getting away from it, not even for a second, and it was slowly dragging him down.

The worst part was that he suspected the solution was painfully obvious, something in plain sight that he couldn’t see for looking. He’d tried examining it every which way, turned it upside down and inside out, but the answer didn’t fall into his lap. There was no sudden breakthrough or flash of inspiration, and he was left wallowing through his own frustration and despair.

He didn’t have time for this. Foster said it had taken him years to decode the book. Ed had been without his alchemy for less than a week, and he was already falling apart. Every day he put on a brave face and tried not to let it show how much this had crippled him, but it wasn’t working.

Al still looked at him with fearful eyes, his concern all the stronger because he didn’t understand. People tiptoed around and tried not to remind him of what he was missing, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made him angry at their delicacy, as if they thought he was so frail that he’d shatter.

Except that was just it, wasn’t it? He pretended to be strong, but he felt broken and vulnerable. A few days ago he had thought that, with his intelligence, he could crack any puzzle and undo whatever Foster had done. Now he bent his whole mind to one crappy little mystery and failed. So much for being a genius.

With a quiet groan, Ed tipped his head down, feeling the scratch of his coat sleeve against his forehead and cold rock touching the tip of his nose. It was too much like looking for the Stone, where every day he seemed to be throwing himself against another obstacle in his path. When they’d started their search, he hadn’t known how many years it would take or how many sleepless nights and guilt-ridden days would pass. It had been for Al, always for Al, and so it was a burden he accepted.

Yet now, he had an idea of what he could be facing: not a week or a month of research and desperation, but possibly years, maybe even a lifetime. Ed closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as the reality sank in. He could struggle until the day he died and never get his alchemy back. He could tear apart every alchemical theory and never retrieve what Foster had taken. Did he really have the strength to do this? Did he have the courage to face potential failure and still try?

A whisper of a laugh, dark and bitter, caught in his throat as another question rose to the surface of his mind. Did he really have a choice?

Without his alchemy, he had nothing. Mustang wouldn’t be able to protect him from the military forever. One day someone would glimpse his arm or realise he couldn’t transmute, and then it would be a short trip to the labs to sink into the stuff of nightmares: a guinea pig to someone else’s glory.

Even if they could hide it long enough for him to get out of the military, what was he meant to do then? He had no real education, no skills except as an alchemist, and no research institute would take him on if he couldn’t prove his abilities. What else was there?

Al would support him, he knew that, but there was no way he was going to let his little brother pay his way. That wasn’t how things should be. If it came down to it, he’d have to choose another path and train in something else. So what if he didn’t enjoy it as much as alchemy? Thousands of people worked in jobs they hated, going from day to day without passion or pride. Why should it be any different for him?

Ed lifted his head to gaze upriver as the thoughts flowed through him, as cold and insipid as the water that ran beneath the bridge. It didn’t matter what he told himself; he knew it was nothing but a lie. He couldn’t leave that code alone any more than he could have left Al in armour. He hadn’t been able to give up on his brother through those long years. Could he really give up on himself?

‘You’re shivering.’

The familiar voice startled him, making him whip around to frown in Mustang’s direction. He was leaning against the wall a bare arm’s length away, watching Ed with dark, curious eyes. A few pedestrians hurried past, intent on getting back to their warm homes as the last of the day’s heat left the air and the chill of the night cloaked the city.

‘It’s cold,’ he muttered dismissively, lifting his shoulders in a shrug as he glared back at the water. ‘How long have you been standing there?’

‘Long enough.’

That wasn’t even a proper answer, and Ed rolled his eyes at the familiar tactic. Mustang was always like this. He never talked about himself. Even when he was questioned directly, he just steered the conversation onto a different track with a well-angled remark. It was an annoying habit, and one that normally made Ed's skin prickle with anger. He’d stood in front of Roy’s desk far too many times over the years, demanding answers and getting nothing for his efforts.

Yet anger wasn’t what he felt now. Maybe he didn’t have the energy for it, but the only emotions that Roy’s presence inspired was a faint embarrassment that he’d been watching and a frail, tepid glow of something else that Ed didn’t recognise. It wasn’t happiness, not exactly, and not quite gratitude either, but it was infinitely better than the choking gloom that threatened to suffocate him in its grasp.

The whisper of shifting fabric caught Ed’s attention, and he watched Roy out of the corner of his eye. He looked distracted, and a worried frown cinched his brow as the cool wind ruffled his dark hair, teasing it with artful fingers. His arms were folded across his broad chest, white gloves nestled like doves in the black folds of his coat, and his lips kept parting slightly as if to say something, only to close again when he changed his mind.

Eventually, what came out was, ‘I know you didn’t get what you wanted from Foster, but you did well. Better than I did.’

Ed gave a graceless huff of irritation. ‘Fucker just likes playing games, that’s all. It didn’t do me any good, anyway. I’m still stuck where I was before.’ His hands curled into fists on the wall, tense and painful in the chill. ‘I’m still getting nowhere fast.’

Roy scratched absently at his jaw, and there was a sudden edge of wariness to his expression that made Ed turn to face him more fully. ‘What?’ he demanded, his voice more of a rough-edged growl than he’d intended, laced with a warning Roy would have to be deaf to miss.

Still, the Flame Alchemist was not known for his cowardice, and Ed watched him brace his shoulders as he said, ‘When you first woke up in my office after Foster attacked you, you wouldn’t even consider the fact that what he might have done to you was permanent. That’s changed, hasn’t it?’

Ed clenched his jaw, speaking through teeth that were gritted together so hard it hurt. ‘I’m not going to give up, so don’t bother trying to tell me it’s an option.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Roy turned around, folding his hands on the wall of the bridge and looking down at the river. ‘Give me some credit, I know you well enough to realise this isn’t something you’ll let go.’ He picked at his gloves as he added in a quieter voice, ‘That doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it, though.’

It was said softly, a gentle nudge of a statement that slipped past Ed’s defences and took root. Trust Mustang to know exactly what had been rippling across his mind barely two minutes ago. He didn’t want to confirm it, not in so many words. Somehow that made it more real.

Instead he murmured, ‘Al thinks I should let it go.' It was impossible to keep the spectre of hurt out of his voice, and he quickly spoke up in his little brother's defence. 'He's trying really hard to understand why it's bothering me so much but, ever since the start of this, he's been as intent on getting my arm and leg back as I was on restoring him. I think –' He rounded his shoulders, bowing his head miserably. 'I think he sees this as something like victory.'

'And you don't.'

It wasn't really a question, but Ed shook his head anyway, watching the river through the fall of his hair. 'I won when I got Al back,' he said in a strong, quiet voice, his words lilting with dark humour. 'Should've known it wouldn't last.'

He was dimly aware of Roy shifting closer. He could feel the warmth of him and could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. It was oddly comforting, and he felt some of the tension ebb out of his shoulders in unconscious response. Whether Mustang had been trying to soothe him or not, he didn't know, but it made it easier to pick up the man's words, pitched for only him to hear.

'I can't pretend to know what it's like, what you're going through, but I do have some idea of how you must feel. Everyone builds themselves around a core, something that is their everything. For some people it's loyalty or family, but you built your life around alchemy.'

Ed narrowed his eyes, unable to stop the spark of defensive anger racing over his skin. Where the hell was Mustang going with this? 'What's wrong with that?' he demanded, scowling as Roy shook his head.

'Nothing was wrong with it, at least, not until Foster came along. Now you've still got your brother, your friends, your life, but you feel like you've lost the one thing that made you different – that made you worth something.'

The tone of his voice choked the angry retort on Ed's tongue and, even though Roy wasn't meeting his eyes, Ed could still see that they were unfocussed on the present time and place. He looked like he was staring at a memory, and not one that held any joy for him. His expression was one of old sorrow and pain, almost mourning, and a bolt of unease shot down Ed's spine, striking like a snake and making him straighten up with wary concern.

There was no way Roy had ever been unable to transmute, and yet he sounded like he was speaking from experience. Was this just another trick, another manipulation to get Ed to talk, or was it an honest attempt to connect?

'How do you know that?' he asked. 'Not that I'm saying you're right or anything, but... .'

A pained smile twitched the corner of Roy's lips, and Ed might not have been good at reading body language, but even he could see the intense discomfort that hummed through Mustang's frame. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but he looked like he'd rather be talking about anything but this. For a minute, Ed thought he wouldn't continue, that he'd brush it off and change the subject, but finally Roy took a deep breath, turning to face Ed more fully as he began.

'Before the war, when I first joined the military, I didn't care about advancing up the ranks and wasn't bothered about politics. I was focussed on my alchemy.' He waved a hand in vague demonstration. 'I was good at it, one of the best in my field. I had every intention of continuing my research and reaching the pinnacle of excellence in fire alchemy.'

Something must have shown on his face, because Roy murmured, 'Not all of us can be brilliant, Ed. Most people have to specialise. They can't be good at everything.'

'What happened?' Ed asked quietly, his heart sinking as he picked out the path this story would take. 'Ishbal?'

'Ishbal,' Roy confirmed. 'You already know that the alchemists were called to the front line. Thousands of people died in violent transmutations designed for nothing but destruction. I burned entire towns to ash in the sand on someone else's orders. It was –' He shook his head, swallowing audibly in a way that made Ed flinch. '– horrific.'

Ed's stomach clenched with sympathy, and his earlier suspicions fled. There was no way Roy was making this up. No actor could recreate the look of glazed despair that locked his expression in its grasp. His face was wan and sick, and dark eyelashes fluttered closed as if he was struggling to pull himself back from the visceral grasp of his memories.

Mutely, Ed reached out, tapping the back of Roy's hand ever-so lightly. It was a brief touch, but he knew how it worked. Sometimes a physical reminder of the here-and-now was the only way to surface from the nightmares of the past, and he desperately wanted to drag Roy back to the present and away from the visions that made him look so helpless and lost.

Silently, Roy blinked his eyes open, meeting Ed's concerned gaze as if seeing him for the first time. The reassuring smile was a little shaken, but when he continued his voice was stronger and more controlled. 'When it was over, I knew I had to change. Soldiers had killed people with guns and bullets, things that could be holstered and put away in a drawer to be forgotten, or thrown away completely. I'd killed them with my alchemy, and I had to live with that knowledge and that weapon for the rest of my life.'  
  
'So you stopped focussing on your studies?'

Mustang nodded, speaking more quickly now. 'I know it's not the same as what you're going through. I made a choice to be more than my alchemy dictated, to give my life another goal and focus, but you didn't have that. I just – I wanted to explain that I have a fraction of an idea of what it must be like.'

Ed bit his lip, turning to look blankly along the bridge towards the tower of Central Command. Roy was right, it wasn't the same, but he wasn't so blind that he couldn't see the similarities. Some days it seemed like everyone knew what had happened to him, but none of them, not even his brother, could understand.

'Then you're the only one who does,' he murmured, lowering his eyes to meet Roy's gaze. 'Thanks. I know you don't like talking about the war. You – you didn't have to tell me that.'

Roy straightened up, rubbing the back of his hand over his brow as he said, 'Yes, I did. It's obvious to everyone how hard this is for you, and I don't want you to think you can't talk to anyone because they won't get it.' He paused, looking back down at the water. 'I realise that you normally turn to Al, but –'

'But it just upsets him.' Ed smiled humourlessly. 'Normally we get each other so well, but this time it's like we're speaking different languages sometimes. I wish I had a fucking clue why.'

He didn't realise he was looking at Roy for an answer until he registered the thoughtfulness on the older man's face. Ed almost waved it off and told him not to bother, but the fact that Mustang was taking his question seriously and not just trying to fob him off with some crap platitude was enough to make him stop and listen to Roy's response.

'I don't know Al as well as you do,' he began, 'but it might be because he finds it easier to relate to lost limbs than stolen alchemy. He spent years in that armour. He knows what it's like to live without sensation – to be something physically different, but through all of this his ability to transmute has been an unaffected.' Roy shrugged, watching Ed's face warily. 'He understood how it must feel like not to have an arm or a leg because he could relate to that, but he has no experience of a time without alchemy.'

Ed blinked, half-blinded by the obvious logic. He'd never really thought to look at it from Al's point of view before. Al, who shared other people's suffering like it was his own and, even after all those years, probably still ached with the empathy of the loss of Ed's limbs. Now they were back in the flesh, and Al was baffled why Ed wasn't as thrilled as he was.

'This “reading people” shit really is your thing, isn't it?' he muttered grudgingly, propping his chin on his palm as he watched Roy give a crooked smile.

'It's a useful skill,' Mustang acknowledged before his face became serious once again. 'However, I don't need it to see that you're exhausting yourself trying to break this code. When was the last time you even ate?'

Ed grimaced, not sure of the answer. He'd had breakfast, hadn't he? There were vague memories of toast eaten in a distracted haze, and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably as he replied, 'Today, probably.'

Roy pushed himself away from the bridge wall, snagging Ed's sleeve in his gloved fingertips and pulling him along after him.

'What – Hey, I'm not a dog on a lead, Mustang,' Ed snapped weakly, leaning his weight back and trying to slow down the bigger man's stride. 'Where are we going?'

'To get you some dinner. You can't do anything if you starve yourself to death.'

Ed opened his mouth to reply, but the roar of his stomach got there first, clearly audible in the peaceful street. Roy smirked as Ed flushed and snatched his sleeve free, cutting him a petulant glare before falling into step at his side. 'Fine, but you're paying.'

He expected an argument, but Roy just looked pleased that he was being cooperative. If he was honest with himself, Ed knew that he'd go along even if he wasn't hungry. Mostly it was because he'd take any excuse to spend another hour without having to look at that damn book, but it was also because it was Roy.

It was so rare that he revealed anything about himself, and Ed was both captivated and curious. Why had Mustang chosen now, of all times, to explain about his alchemy? Why was he being so open and unguarded? He'd always tried to help, Ed knew that, but it was behind the scenes and covert, hidden away from plain sight. He'd never been so blatant before, and a thrill tickled the pit of Ed's stomach as he tried to puzzle through the reasons.

'How are things going with Alex and Maes?' Roy asked, his tone indicating nothing of a superior officer demanding a report from a subordinate. It was light, more friendly and apparently genuinely interested.

'Slow,' Ed replied. 'I mean, it was never going to be quick, but it's annoying that it's taking so long for me to adapt.' A faint grin tugged at his mouth, feeling briefly alien on his face as it took hold. 'They're good teachers, though, better than Izumi. Neither of them slam my head into a tree when I fuck things up.'

'Was she really that bad?'

Ed laughed quietly as he shook his head. 'No, I mean, she was tough, but we needed it. We were little kids, you know? Thought we knew everything.' He didn't mean to keep talking, but Roy was watching him, barely paying attention to the street around them as he listened, and so Ed began to explain what it had been like: long days of physical training and alchemy and sleepless nights on the island, all the while trying to learn everything they could so that they could get their mother back.

He didn't realise that they'd walked so far until Roy gestured towards one of Central's many restaurants. It was brightly lit, invitingly warm compared to the outside, and Ed followed him in, looking around in surprise. He'd always imagined that if Mustang dined out, it was somewhere high-class and stuffy, but this was comfortable. There were little signs of elegance that suggested the food probably wasn't cheap, but everything appeared to have been designed with the patrons’ comfort in mind.

Eating here wasn't about status, it was about a good meal: Ed's kind of place. He suspected that was why Roy had brought him here.

There were plenty of other diners, all relaxed and cheerful, and the conversation rose and fell in a sea of sound, punctuated by laughter and the chime of glass and crockery. A large fire crackled cheerfully at one end of the room, and Ed rolled his eyes as Mustang headed straight for it, settling at a table at a comfortable distance from the ruddy flames.

'What about you?' he asked as he sat down, leaning back and letting out a tiny sigh, soothed by the warmth of the fire. 'You must've had teachers for your alchemy, right?'

Roy nodded, leaving his coat over the back of the chair and nudging a menu in Ed's direction. 'Yes, I did, but I didn't start with any official training until I was thirteen or so.' A faintly embarrassed flush heated his cheeks as he admitted, 'The choice was sort of made for me. I went through a stage of being able to ignite fires that were a bit beyond my abilities to control. You can only set fire to the curtains so many times before someone decides you need more instruction than a few alchemy books can provide.'

Ed sniggered, trying to imagine a younger Mustang grappling to keep his alchemy on a tight leash. Now he was the epitome of control. Even when he was handling flames taller than buildings, he never seemed to get flustered or lose faith in his abilities. He made it look incredibly easy, and Ed would bet anything that was part of the appeal of it.

It was surprisingly simple to fall into casual conversation as they ordered, talking about whatever came to mind. Ed wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not, but Roy didn't mention anything to do with Foster or the code the entire time. Instead they ended up swapping stories about assignments they'd been on in the past, talking about people and locations, both the good and the bad. Roy's journeys as a major had taken him to some of the towns that Ed had visited, and they talked their way through the familiar streets, their experiences only separated by the change a few years could bring to the world.

The restaurant wasn't particularly intimate, there were no soft candles, no overtones of romance, and yet the rest of the diners seemed to fade away. They were separate from it all, above and beyond it, lost in pleasant conversation. Minute by minute, Ed relaxed, losing himself in the familiarity of Roy's voice.

His words weren't clipped and commanding, as they usually were in the office. His voice was open and caring, and Ed kept having to remind himself that this wasn't a date. Roy had brought him here to feed him, nothing more. Ed knew he should be annoyed at someone else trying to take care of him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything but contentment and, beneath that, the steady simmer of want.

With every passing moment, Ed felt more at ease, more comfortable with the strange, subtle tension that seemed to warm the air between them. Every time their eyes met, it was harder for Ed to drag his gaze away. He found himself entranced, hyper-aware of all the little movements Roy made as he spoke – from the tilt of his head and the curve of his lips. He seemed completely at ease, happy and enthusiastic to be in Ed's company, and that simple feeling of being wanted was completely intoxicating.

The arrival of their meals didn't do much to break down the conversation. The smell of rich herbs and butter, perfectly cooked meat and creamy sauce was enough to make Ed's mouth water and his stomach whimper in anticipation, but he forced himself not to wolf down his food. Roy probably noticed his restraint, because Ed caught a glimpse of a smile before Roy hid it behind his glass.

By the time he'd cleared his plate, Ed's stomach was satisfyingly full, and the tangled mass of his thoughts had settled into a smooth flow, calm and at peace. It probably wouldn’t last long, but it was more of a reprieve than he had ever hoped for, and he had Roy to thank for it.

‘You didn’t have to do this, you know,’ he said quietly, ducking his head when Roy raised one eyebrow in question, ‘talk to me, feed me, that kind of thing.' He cleared his throat awkwardly before looking up again, chin tilted stubbornly as he forced himself to add, ‘I’m glad you did, though. Thanks, Mustang.’

‘It was my pleasure. It’s been a good way to spend the evening,’ Roy replied, and there was something  some warmer edge to his voice that flowed across Ed’s skin like honey. It was subtle and, at any other time, in any other place, he would probably have missed it, but now it was enough to make his breath catch in his throat, surprised and doubtful all at once. Was he reading too much into this, or was he getting it right?

He continued to question himself as Roy got the bill, trying to understand this new side to Mustang. Was it just because he’d started paying attention that he was noticing all the nuances to his behaviour, or was the man actually showing him a new facet of his personality? Ed knew that he wasn’t as much of a bastard as he pretended to be in the office, but he'd never expected to share something like this with Roy.

It could be friendship, except that it seemed to go further than that. Friends looked out for each other, that was true enough, but not like this. They reminded you to eat dinner; they didn’t take you to a restaurant and buy it for you, did they? So what exactly was Mustang trying to say? Was he just worried about Ed's welfare? Was Roy watching out for him as he'd always done, or was there more to it than that?

The queries raced around his head as they collected up their coats and left their table, stepping out into the cold night air. It was like an icy vice, and Ed shuddered as his breath left him in a cloud of white. An hour or two must have passed since they stood on the bridge, and he blinked in surprise, shocked that he hadn't noticed the passage of time. He'd been so engrossed in what Roy was saying that the evening had slipped by unnoticed. Losing himself in a book was commonplace, but in a conversation?

Fuck, he had it bad, and he still didn't know if Roy felt the same way. Hope wasn't the same as certainty and, while he had seen more than one hint that Roy might share his desire, it still wasn't enough to give him the courage to act. Chimeras, psychopaths, arrays going critical – he'd take on all of that without flinching, but rejection from Roy?

'Are you all right?'

The soft question made him jerk in surprise, and he blinked awake with a sheepish grin. ‘Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking.’

Roy glanced both ways before crossing the street, keeping pace with Ed’s comfortable stride. ‘About anything in particular?’

Ed couldn’t exactly say “You”, although the word sat heavy on the tip of his tongue. ‘Nothing interesting, just an experiment.’ It was as close to the truth as he dared to tread, and he glanced at Roy out of the corner of his eyes, wondering if there was a faintly knowing slant to his smile, or if that was a trick of the light.

Belatedly, he realised that they weren’t heading back towards headquarters, but towards his apartment. He almost told Mustang that he didn’t need walking home, but he caught the words before they could slip past his lips.

He felt stupid for admitting it, even in the privacy of his own head, but he didn’t want this to end. Roy’s company had been enough to banish the taut frustration and the spreading darkness of his mood; it had been _fun_ , and that was so rare that Ed was unwilling to let it go easily. So he’d allow Roy to take him home. Besides, it would give him a bit more time to test his hypothesis.

Another involuntary shiver raced over his skin, and Ed grinned to himself as Roy moved closer until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feed the warm glow in Ed’s stomach. Mustang didn’t offer his coat, which was just as well. Ed’s pride had its limits, and he knew himself well enough to know he’d snap a sharp refusal rather than accept it graciously.

‘Do you miss it,’ he asked, returning to their earlier conversation, ‘studying your alchemy? I know you chose to climb the ranks instead, but don’t you ever wish you’d done things differently?’ It was a personal question, a kind of test to see if Roy's earlier openness had begun to fade, and Ed was secretly pleased to get an answer.

Roy frowned thoughtfully, giving it earnest consideration. ‘I sometimes wonder how much better I would be now, if I’d devoted my time to improving my abilities,' he admitted. 'I miss the peace of research and the freedom of choosing my own path – normally when I’m up to my eyes in paperwork – but second thoughts? No. Not really.'

Mustang hunched his shoulders, tugging his coat closed around him as he explained, 'If I was still just an alchemist in the military, I’d never be anything more than a weapon to those at the top.’ He shrugged, and his eyes turned wicked. ‘Now I’m a threat. They’re aware I want to be Fuhrer, and they know things will change when I reach office.’

Ed snorted at the confidence in Mustang’s voice, nudging him playfully with his elbow. ‘You’ve still got a long way to go,’ he pointed out. His voice softened as he admitted, ‘You’d probably be good at it, though.’

‘I’ve got great people helping me,’ Roy replied, and Ed couldn’t help the faint flush that stole across his cheeks. He knew Roy wasn’t talking about Hughes or Hawkeye. ‘What about you?’ Mustang continued, bumping his shoulder in gentle curiosity. ‘Didn't you ever want to be something else when you were a kid?’

Ed cut him a glance, grateful that Roy had switched the subject so Ed wouldn’t have to splutter any kind of response to his unexpected praise. ‘I never really thought about it,' he replied. 'Me and Al did alchemy because it’s what our dad did. Al was always kind of interested in Mister Rockbell as well. I think he kind of wanted to do both. He likes helping people.’

‘So do you,’ Roy pointed out, turning a corner and dodging around a couple of teenagers before moving back towards Ed. ‘You’re not called “Hero of the People” for nothing.’

‘Huh,’ Ed grunted, wrinkling his nose. ‘You know how that works. You stop one psycho alchemist and suddenly everyone thinks you’re great. I wasn’t doing it for them. I was doing it because people shouldn’t be allowed to do whatever they want with alchemy. They shouldn’t be allowed to play god.’ He looked down at the street, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets as he scowled. ‘Alchemy’s always been my thing. I never wanted anything else.’

Their footsteps echoed along the quiet street as the silence descended around them both. He could almost feel Roy’s worry: a tangible veil in the air, and Ed wished he could have somehow managed to put off thinking about Foster and the code a bit longer, but it was no use. They flooded through his mind again, stirring up the same old fear and frustration, and he bowed his head beneath their nebulous weight.

It wasn’t far to the apartment he shared with Al and, as it came into view, he could almost hear the taunting call of the books that awaited him inside. He’d had a few hours away, but it wasn’t nearly enough of a break from the puzzles that lay within their pages, and he could feel a fresh ache waking up behind his eyes at the thought of another sleepless night poring over the secrets.

Some of his despair must have shown on his face, because Roy reached out, gripping Ed’s elbow and pulling him to a halt a half-dozen paces from his front door. ‘You’ll work it out, Ed,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll break the code and find out how to reverse what Foster did.’

Ed glanced over his shoulder, seeing the faith in Mustang’s face. He wasn’t just saying it as something to make Ed feel better. He might have his doubts and his fears, he might have considered the possibility of failure, but Roy’s belief in him and his abilities seemed to outweigh all of that.

‘What makes you so sure?’ he asked, turning around and watching Roy through the gold fall of his hair. ‘It’s been days and I’ve not found out anything. It’s like I’m just running in place, fucking about with some stupid cipher and never making any progress.’

Roy made a noise that sounded like a barely stifled sigh, as if he thought Ed was somehow missing an important point. ‘Exactly, Ed. You’ve been working on it for _days_. Foster took years, and it’s obvious to anyone that you’re considerably more intelligent than he is.’

He moved closer, reaching out to cup Ed’s shoulders in his palms and ducking his head down so that Ed had no choice but to meet his gaze. ‘The only person who thinks you’re not doing enough to fix what happened is you. Everyone else can see that you’re doing everything possible. Why do you have to be so hard on yourself?’

Ed pressed his lips together in a flat line, scowling at the street as he replied, ‘Because it’s my alchemy. When that’s gone, what else have I got?’

Roy looked at him as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His dark eyes were puzzled, and his hand swept along the curve of Ed’s right shoulder in absent comfort. ‘You make it sound like you’re not capable of achieving anything else,’ he murmured. ‘Ed, I know everyone says it so much it’s become meaningless, but you have an incredible mind. Even if you refuse to believe that you’re a genius, everyone who cares about you can see it. If you choose to aim for it, then you can have anything you want.’

Roy’s voice had dipped fractionally lower, and Ed blinked as he realised the possible implication behind the older man’s words. Was he just talking about careers and achievements, or was there more to it than that? Did he mean anything, or any _one_?

Ed glanced up, his heart thrashing in his chest as he noticed the heat in Roy’s eyes. He’d spent all evening trying to read signals and put a name to what he was seeing, balancing hope and reality but, even after spending so much time with him, even seeing the warmth in his gaze, Ed was still lost in the tangle of his uncertainty.

He grimaced, kicking himself for his own cowardice. What the fuck was wrong with him? If he didn’t do something soon, take some kind of risk, then he’d carry on with this stupid game forever, always holding back in the name of more evidence. If he kept playing it safe, he might never find out once and for all if there was something simmering between him and Roy. Was that what he really wanted – to never know and always wonder at what might have been if he’d just had the guts to find out?

He licked his lips, his breath catching as he noticed Roy’s eyes following the movement. It was one little clue among the many, and it was finally enough to tip the balance in his mind.

Ed swallowed tightly before reaching out, curling his fingers in Roy’s collar and giving a tug – half warning, half request  before he stretched up and pressed a kiss to Mustang’s lips.

For a few thundering heartbeats, there was no response. Roy didn’t move. There was nothing but tense surprise in the muscles beneath Ed’s hand and the flicker of a blink against his cheek.

Something pained and humiliated curled through Ed’s body. He almost pulled away, almost stammered an apology and fled, but Roy’s hand cupped his jaw before he’d broken back more than a hair’s breadth. The glove’s fabric was rough against his skin, but it was the briefest of sensations that was wiped from his mind as soon as Roy closed the fractional distance and claimed Ed’s mouth with his own.

At first, it was tentative and testing, as if Roy wasn’t sure how much he was allowed, but even that was enough to make Ed shake. Roy’s thumb stroked soothingly over his cheek, the heat of his palm scorching down through Ed’s skin and body. It chased away the lingering chill of the air and made his blood sing in his veins, stirred up by the tender caress.

Without thinking, he parted his lips, nipping at Roy’s mouth before dipping in for a taste of his wet heat. A groan escaped as Roy’s tongue met his, stroking and teasing, reducing the world to the flicker and flash of sensations that cascaded downward. Ed's right hand uncurled from the rough collar of the coat, slipping beneath the warm wool and resting over the racing thud of Roy’s heart. It beat through his skin like a drum’s rhythm, calling his own pulse into the same tripping, thumping race.

Every single doubt that Ed had possessed evaporated as Roy’s fingers shifted, drifting around to the nape of his neck. They caught in his hair, tugging gently and changing the angle with a hoarse growl of encouragement. He wasn’t held in place – he could have broken away and stepped back – but why would he want to? He’d spent days agonising over a mess of body language and now, finally, he had the answer he wanted.

Ed was vaguely aware that they were standing in the middle of the street making out like a couple of teenagers, but he couldn’t even begin to care. Eagerly, his hips arched, and he shivered in pleasure as he felt the hardening length of Roy’s erection press against him through their clothes. His fingers twitched against Roy’s chest, caught by the urge to trail downwards and trace the shape of the hot, hard flesh through his uniform pants.

As it was, Roy’s palms were doing wonderful things to his back, stroking down the ridge of his spine and pushing his hips closer. A spark of pleasure flashed between Ed's legs, making him twitch, and he broke away with a gasp.

Ed dragged in a lungful of air, grinning to himself as he heard Roy’s equally ragged breathing. Roy's forehead was pressed to Ed’s brow, and when Ed opened his eyes he was met with that hot, dark gaze. A soft flush warmed Roy’s cheeks, and his lips were red and swollen from Ed’s attention.

‘Fuck,’ Ed murmured, his voice catching on a huff of laughter, ‘should have done that ages ago.’

‘Mmmmm,’ Roy agreed, a bright, movie star grin curving his lips as he bent his head for another kiss, quicker, softer, but still just as tempting.

Ed almost let his eyes flutter closed, almost lost himself all over again, but a sudden wash of light made them both look up at the apartment building. The windows were all shielded by curtains, but Ed's eyes instinctively went to the window of his flat, seeing the warm light glowing beyond the drapes.

'It looks like your brother might be waiting for you to get home,' Roy said quietly, and Ed could hear a gratifying echo of his own disappointment in Mustang's voice. 'I should probably let you go.'

Yet he made no move to do so. One hand remained on the small of Ed's back and the other rubbed softly across the back of Ed's neck, making it hard to think about anything except Roy's touch. It was hypnotic and soothing, exciting and calming all at once, and Ed had to force himself to shift backwards, moving reluctantly out of Roy's arms.

He didn't go far, couldn't bring himself to put more than half a step between them, and even then his body keened at the loss of Roy's warmth. For a moment, he saw a flicker of something like fear in Mustang's eyes, as if he thought Ed was pulling away in rejection, and he quickly reached out, catching his fingers around Roy's as he tried to find his voice again.

Questions were building up in his mind, not about Foster, the Gate, or the code, but about _this_. Ed wasn't stupid. He knew that anything between him and Mustang wasn't going to be easy. One kiss didn't mean they'd never fight again; it didn't mean they'd always be on the same wavelength and it didn't mean other people would understand. He wanted to ask Roy how much things would change, how long it would last, what it even _was_ , but only the most important question passed his lips.

'Can I see you again tomorrow – outside of work, I mean?' Ed winced at the need in his voice, wishing he didn't sound so desperate, but Roy's happiness was easy to see without his masks in place, and Ed's embarrassment quickly faded.

Roy ducked his head in a nod, tangling his fingers briefly in Ed's grasp before tugging him closer again. 'I'd like that. I'd really like the chance to see where things could go between us.'

It wasn't exactly a question, but Ed nodded his head in agreement anyway, feeling the fizz of relief as he tipped his head up to kiss Roy again, savouring the taste of him and revelling in the press of his body as his heart skipped and soared in his chest.

'I'll see you tomorrow then?' Roy asked, giving Ed's hand one last squeeze as he stepped back.

'Yeah,' Ed replied, trying not to sound too breathless as he grinned to himself. 'Night, Mustang.'

'Night, Ed.' Roy's eyes took on a wicked gleam as he added, 'Sweet dreams.'

Ed reluctantly stepped away, flicking Mustang the briefest of waves over his shoulder as he turned away and trotted up the stairs into the apartment building. He didn't dare look back, not when he couldn't trust his feet not to change direction and take him right back into Roy's arms where he wanted to be, but he did glance out of one of the hallway windows in time to see Mustang disappear around the corner of the street and out of sight.

Fumbling with his keys, he let himself into the flat and leaned back against the door, closing his eyes as he tried to steady his too-heavy breathing. He was grinning like an idiot, and he curled his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching up and touching his own lips.

He should have known that it would be hard to stop once he’d started – should have realised that, as hard as it was to find the courage and just kiss Roy, it would be harder still to step back. If it hadn't been for the fact that Al was here, would they have said goodnight, or would they have staggered up here to finish what one little kiss had started?

A noise from the kitchen made him look up to see Al leaning against the door-frame, watching him with a puzzled expression. 'Brother, are you all right? You look kind of flushed. Are you coming down with something?'

Ed frowned, trying to work out if Al was teasing him, but there was only innocence in his little brother's expression. At least that meant he hadn't seen him and Roy tangling tongues out on the pavement. 'I'm fine, Al,' he replied, pushing himself away from the door and heading towards his bedroom. 'Just tired, that's all. Think I'm going to have an early night.'

Al blinked in surprise, his shoulders slumping in relief as he seemed to realise that, for the first time this week, he wouldn't have to drag his brother away from his books for a few hours of rest. 'You're – you're not going to work on the code?'

Ed looked into the kitchen, seeing the volumes spread out on the table. They waited for him like a baited trap, but he wasn't going to fall into a cage of research again, not tonight.

'I'll do it in the morning,' he said, keeping his voice smooth and steady. 'I'll be able to concentrate better when I've had some sleep. Night, Al.'

His brother's wary “Good night” followed him along the corridor, and Ed nudged his way into his room before flopping down on the bed. He'd have to tell Al sooner or later; he was too smart to miss the clues for long. He already knew about Ed's preferences for men and had accepted it without even blinking, but this was different. He honestly didn't know how Al would react to knowing that something was starting, not between Ed and someone new, but between Ed and Roy, someone they'd both known and relied on for years.

With a sigh, he kicked off his boots, not wanting to dwell on that now. He peeled off his jacket and t-shirt before shimmying out of his pants and climbing into bed.

The blankets rustled around him as he crawled into their depths, the smooth cotton of the sheets sending thrills of sensation across his naked body. He was overly sensitive, still humming from Roy's kiss and the steady stroke of his hands. Arousal throbbed a heavy beat between his legs, and Ed swallowed tightly, remembering the feel of his lips and tongue, the flutter of his breath at the corner of his mouth, the sheer heat of him... .

His breath hissed as his left hand drifted lower, down across his stomach to brushing the tip of his straining cock. It knew what it wanted. Roy's hands, Roy's mouth, Roy's body, but it couldn't have him. Not tonight, anyway.

Ed rolled on his side, burying his face in the pillow to stifle his needy groan as he began to stroke. Before there had only been baseless imaginings, but now he knew the taste, the smell, the perfection that was Roy, and he needed no help whatsoever in picturing what lay beneath that uniform: skin the colour of snow and flesh carrying the fire's heat, hard and hot and wanting.

Tremors twisted their way through Ed, making him shake beneath their onslaught as he licked his dry lips. His skin felt as if it were aflame, as if Roy had set the spark alight out there on the street and now it settled, burning higher and higher until Ed was consumed, his mind full of Roy and his body brimming with need.

He cocked his legs out wider, grinding his hips as he sought out friction, letting the images tumble through his mind as the sea rose in the pit of his stomach, reaching its peak until the wave could only break, flooding him through and through.

Ed jerked as his release swamped through him, whiting out his mind with its brief supernova. His breath rushed from his lungs in shallow, desperate pants as warmth splashed over his hand and onto the sheets. It was always cleaner in the shower, Ed thought hazily, but he didn't think he could have stayed upright and done that, not with Roy so rich in his memory.

Wrinkling his nose sleepily, he wiped his hand on the mattress, promising himself he'd change the linen in the morning. Dimly, he wondered if Roy was home yet. Was he sitting by the fire drinking whisky? Was he in bed? Was he doing exactly the same thing as Ed had just done, losing himself in the flash-fire of satisfaction?

Closing his eyes, Ed rolled over, his hair sticking to his forehead as he nuzzled into the cool half of the pillow and let out a shaking sigh. His body felt lax and spent; his mind was empty and clear, a tranquil sea already darkening with slumber and, slowly, he sank beneath its surface.

For the first time in what felt like years, Ed slept soundly, lost only in pleasant dreams.


	13. Chapter 13

Roy checked his face in the mirror, going through his morning routine without sparing it a thought. For the first time in months, he had woken up with a smile on his face. Even now his reflection couldn't keep its mouth straight, and there was a brightness in his eyes that he almost didn't recognise. Before, the image over his sink had shown nothing but grim determination and vague worry. Occasionally, satisfaction had found its way into his expression, but not this, not happiness.

And it was all because of Ed.

The smile spread into a grin as he checked his uniform and brushed fluff from the stars on his shoulder. He had gone after Ed hoping that he would be allowed to offer some form of comfort, but he had never expected to be so fully repaid for his quiet confession. Roy had told Ed about what happened after Ishbal, not to manipulate him, but to show him that he was there to talk to as a friend. It had been important to share that part of his life, but he had never expected it would be the key that urged Ed to open up to him.

Turning away, Roy flicked off the bathroom light and headed towards the stairs, whistling to himself as he went. He had always suspected that there was more to Ed than met the eye, and last night had been proof of that. It wasn't just that the young man was so intelligent and undeniably strong – he cared about people. Even after everything the world had thrown at him, he still hadn't let the bitterness seep through to his core and, for that, he was all the more dazzling.

Roy was used to people stroking his ego, but that had never been Ed's aim. He had actually listened to everything Roy had to say. His attention was genuine, and Roy had found himself just as focussed on Ed. He had forgotten all about controlling his appearance and expression, had forgotten everything except drinking in the sight of the young man, from the tilt of his lips when he smiled to the brightness of his eyes.

And then there was that kiss.

Roy paused at the bottom of the stairs, feeling the thrill in his stomach and the lightness in his chest. He had hoped that his feelings of desire were mutual, but it had still taken all of his strength to leave his masks at home and openly show the signs of his attraction. Even then, he had never believed that Ed would pick up on the clues so quickly.

He had been so surprised by the brush of Ed's lips and the tentative swipe of his tongue that it had taken Roy a while to respond. Almost too long, in fact. Ed had begun to pull away by the time Roy had gathered his wits enough to return the kiss, coaxing Ed back and revelling in the sheer joy of his taste and scent and warmth... .

Clearing his throat, Roy blinked himself back to the present and shifted his weight, trying to push aside the heat that curled between his legs. As it was he'd had to deal with himself when he got home, and the thought that Ed was probably doing the same thing shouldn't have made him come so quickly.

Walking across the hall, Roy grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. A waft of Ed's shampoo-and-leather scent reached his nose, and his stomach jolted with something almost like hunger. His mouth turned dry, and he rubbed a hand across his forehead as he tried to drag his imagination away from yesterday evening.

If it hadn't been for that timely reminder of Al's presence, would they have been able to pull away from each other? That kiss had been a million miles from chaste and perfunctory; it was a prelude to far more, and Ed had been offering it all with the arch of his body and the press of his hips. Roy knew the word “no” would never have escaped him, and he couldn't quite decide whether he was relieved or disappointed at the fact they were interrupted.

Perhaps it was for the best that they didn't rush into this. They knew each other well as soldiers, but the personal relationship was still in its first stages. The tender shoots of trust and companionship could be crushed by over-eagerness as much as they could wither through neglect. Yet that knowledge didn't ease the edgy desire that slipped through Roy's veins, spreading heat wherever it went. Now, without Ed here, it was a languid warmth, but Roy suspected it would quickly flare into something wild and tempting if given the chance.

Huffing out a deep breath, Roy checked his pocket for his keys and pulled on his gloves, wriggling his fingers into the fabric sheaths as he struggled to focus his mind. Just because things had changed between him and Ed, that didn't mean that the world had moved with them. All the threats and concerns over Foster's behaviour and Ed's alchemy still lingered; Roy couldn't afford to forget that, no matter how much he wanted to.

Pulling open the door, he jerked in surprise, fingers aimed to snap in automatic defense before his mind caught up with what he was seeing. Hughes' hands had shot up in the universal gesture of surrender, and his eyes were screwed up in an expectant cringe. A black military car was parked at the kerb behind him, the driver's door hanging open as if he had just climbed out.

'What the _hell_ , Maes?' Roy snarled, more angry at himself than his friend. He'd been so busy thinking about Ed that he hadn't been paying any attention to his surroundings. He should have heard the car pulling up and footsteps, but he'd been lost to it all. That was a sure-fire way to get killed. 'Don't sneak up on me! Remember when we shared a dorm and you thought it would be funny to jump out at me from behind a door?'

Hughes let out a snort of laughter, lowering his hands to rub at the nape of his neck. 'Hard to forget not having any eyebrows for weeks.'

'I could have burned your face off,' Roy pointed out, shutting his front door. 'What are you doing here, anyway? I was going to walk to work, and even if I were taking the car, it's not your job to drive me around.'

Maes' crooked smile was all innocence, and he gave a shrug as he trotted down the steps to the pavement. 'No reason. Now, get in the car, Roy. Front passenger seat. I don't want to get a crick in my neck talking to you.'

There was a faint edge to Hughes' voice that suggested he had something important to say, and Roy followed his instructions, suddenly tense and uneasy. Had something happened at headquarters? Had the situation changed? Did Maes know something?

Slipping into the seat, he did up the restraint and watched Hughes start the car. His profile was as easy-going as ever, but his eyes were shadowed with an unreadable warning. It wasn't anger, or fear, but Maes excelled at friendly concern, and a trickle of uncertainty flowed down into Roy's stomach like ice-water.

'How did it go with Ed last night?'

Roy let out a quiet sigh of disbelief as the car pulled away. He could tell from Hughes' tone that it wasn’t so much a question as it was a lead into a conversation that he couldn’t escape. Sooner or later, Maes would find out everything that happened. Of course, he thought, sneaking a glance at his friend’s face and noticing the smug curve of Hughes’ mouth, he might know it all already.

‘Did you follow me or have you just bugged my jacket?’ he asked suspiciously, not bothering to answer the original question.

Maes’ looked briefly affronted before he waved a dismissive hand. ‘Actually, I slipped out to see if I could get some flowers for my wonderful Gracia, and I saw the two of you coming out of that restaurant you’re always raving about: Harry’s? Henry’s?’

‘Howard’s,’ Roy murmured. ‘I’m sure there are no florists open that late.’

‘You’d be amazed,’ Maes replied. ‘The two of you were so into each other you didn’t notice me and, since you were heading in the same direction as me I thought there would be no harm in keeping an eye on you.’

‘Most people would find that creepy,’ Roy pointed out, feeling the glow of embarrassment starting to simmer in his cheeks. ‘How much did you see?’

Hughes didn’t reply, but he was grinning from ear-to-ear, and his fingers drummed out a happy rhythm on the steering wheel. ‘Enough,’ he hedged, and Roy watched as the joy was tempered by concern once more. ‘It’s not me that you should be worried about, it’s everyone else. You of all people know why being seen enjoying an intimate moment with Ed could be dangerous to you both. What if someone of higher rank than you got hold of that information?’

The heat in Roy’s face vanished, replaced by an icy wash of fear that sank into his bones. He stared ahead, watching the skimming road and passing traffic as his heart gave a sick stutter in his chest.

‘You forgot all about it, didn’t you?’ Hughes asked quietly, his voice thick with something like wonder. ‘When was the last time anyone made you stop thinking about keeping up appearances?’

Roy shook his head, digging his fingers into his hair as his mind sputtered to life. He planned the probabilities and thought through the risks. Ed and Al lived in a low-rent part of town. They had to; it was all they could afford. Anyone above the rank of lieutenant would have no place there, and anyone below would be hard put to make their accusations heard or believed. It was only if someone of importance had followed them, like Hughes, that they were likely to be seen.

‘You can stop freaking out,’ Maes assured him, casting a fond smile in his direction. ‘Since you were otherwise occupied, I checked around. There was no one else nearby. If someone happened to be looking out of a window they probably wouldn’t have recognised you. At least you had the sense not to make out under a street-lamp.’

‘That was more luck than sense,’ Roy murmured, giving a shaky smile as Hughes chuckled.

‘Be that as it may, it made this whole thing easier. I’m almost certain that you weren’t seen by anyone that mattered, and no one took any pictures that could be used against you. You might have been blinded by the fireworks going off in your skull, but I would have noticed the flash.’ Hughes hit the indicator and took the road towards Central Command, still talking as they drove along the approach.

‘Just be careful, okay? You’ve finally found someone who can make you forget all about your rank and responsibilities and just be “Roy” again.' Maes sighed, keeping his eyes on the road as he added, 'Ed’s not a game to you; I only have to look at your face to know that. I don’t want you to lose something so important just because the wrong person sees you two together at the wrong time.’

Roy nodded, looking to his side at the shops that lined the street. ‘I don’t plan to make it public knowledge, but the longer Ed and I keep it to ourselves the more chance there is of someone finding out and trying to use it against us. I’ve planned for that eventuality, but it’s not perfect.’

Maes made an irritated noise, clenching his jaw in thought. ‘There would be fewer repercussions if Ed was no longer in the military. A month ago, I bet he’d have jumped at the chance to get out of his contract early. But now – ’

‘Now he needs access to restricted books and to Foster… . He needs to be around familiar people, Hughes. If we get him out of his contract now it would do him more harm than good.’ Roy slumped in his seat. Things had been so uncomplicated when Ed was in his arms, but now it was another matter.

The safest thing would be to hold back on their relationship until this whole mess was solved, but Roy knew it wasn’t that easy. There were no guarantees that Ed would ever be the alchemist he once was, and Roy’s insides curled at the thought of having to keep his distance for an unspecified amount of time.

No, he couldn’t bear that. Besides, there was every chance that Ed would read his distance as rejection, and that was enough to break Roy’s heart. They couldn't hold off starting a relationship – not now.

‘Thank you for watching out for us,’ he murmured to Hughes. ‘I know exactly what Ed and I might lose if the wrong person finds out, but I’ll do everything I can to protect him from that.’

Hughes gave a gentle smile, nodding to himself as the perimeter came into view. ‘I know you will. I don’t want you to turn your back on any of it, Roy. Not Ed, and not the Fuhrership.' Maes held onto the steering wheel with one hand, using the other to rub tiredly at his eyes. 'I've been your friend for years and I know that, despite your playboy reputation, you don’t take unnecessary risks. If you didn’t think that last night was the beginning of something life-changing, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.’

Roy opened his mouth to ask Hughes how he could be so sure, but the question died in his throat as he saw the soldiers crawling around the walls of headquarters. They were armed, not with guns, but with paint and brushes, slapping blank white over the ugly black scars of graffiti on the building.

‘What the hell?’ Roy murmured, undoing his seat belt as Maes parked the car. The two of them climbed out, paying the cold air and the icy ground no attention as they stared at the mess. It was interspersed at regular intervals along the wall, and it took Roy a moment to realise that they would have been the gloomier areas during the night, untouched by the lamps. Whoever had done this had either slipped past the guards, or it was an inside job.

Either way, they had daubed their “art” in thick lines everywhere they could reach, and Roy frowned at the symbol that recurred throughout. It was a solid circle, much like the outline of an array, but four parallel lines slashed across it, disturbing the circumference like a wild animal had clawed it apart.

‘You don’t know what it means, do you?’ Hughes muttered, pocketing the car keys.

‘Assume that I’ve been too busy to pay attention to street artists' trends,’ Roy replied as dread rose in him like a noxious tide. Whatever Hughes had to say, it wouldn't be good news.

‘I’ve not seen it often, but there’s been more of it around in the past few weeks.' Maes pushed his glasses up his nose. 'It’s a protest against the use of alchemy.’

Roy tipped his head, committing the simple emblem to memory as he asked, ‘Is there a particular gang behind it?’

‘No. Those that have been arrested have all been normal people upset by the fact that alchemists are stealing their jobs, destroying their livelihoods. Their demands vary. Most want all alchemists to be registered and monitored, but there are a few who think that won’t be enough.’

He didn’t ask what Hughes meant by that. Roy was a soldier, and he knew that there were always people out there who would rather kill those who were different than try and accept them. The fact that alchemists had existed for millennia was meaningless. Like all such things, the whispers of terror lingered behind the prejudice. Even Roy could admit that, under Bradley, alchemists had become something to fear. Now it looked like they might be paying the price for that reputation.

‘How long has this been happening?’ Roy asked, tucking his hands in his pockets and moving towards the steps. ‘I haven't heard much about it until now.’

‘There's always been some unrest, same as there is about the Ishballan immigrants and all that. I suppose they’ve become more vocal over the past six months or so.’ Hughes shrugged, following him through the door and into the halls beyond. ‘Intelligence is keeping an eye on it. Normally things like this flare up and simmer down again.’

Roy didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t much to add. Hughes was speaking out of hope, rather than belief. It wasn’t just headquarters that contained the eerie, edgy taste in the air. The whole city was the same, calm and peaceful while storms crowded the horizon. People were unhappy, and if enough of them began to add their voices to the dissent, then not even the army could silence them again.

The friendly clap of Maes’ hand on his shoulder made him look over to see his friend jerk his thumb down the corridor towards Intelligence. ‘I’ve got work to do. Look, don’t worry about the anti-alchemy stuff, all right? I’m on top of it, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to know if anything big starts to happen. None of us want a repeat of that whole “Scar” mess.’

He nodded his thanks, listening to Hughes’ footsteps fade amidst the bustle of the corridor before he set off towards his own waiting duties. Roy strode through the crowd towards the office, barely noticing the salutes of junior soldiers as he went. Finally, he got to the right door and pushed it aside, glancing around at the familiar sight of his men with a faint smile.

However, there was one young woman who didn’t belong, and it took his memory a moment to recognise Heath’s aide, Jones. She was examining Jean’s burned hand with a professional air, and rubbing some salve into the healing skin with gentle fingertips. Havoc looked like he couldn’t decide if he was enamoured or terrified, but he was passively listening to the brunette’s instructions.

‘Leave it uncovered for now. Burns are tricky, but this one didn’t go too deep,’ Jones explained, tapping the pot of ointment. ‘Apply this three times a day, or you’ll lose flexibility in the skin and do more damage.’ She must have caught sight of Roy out of the corner of her eye, because she quickly straightened up and turned to salute him.

‘At ease, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘Is there something I can help you with, or is Lieutenant Havoc the only one of my staff you need to speak to today?’

If Jones was thrown by his gentle query, she didn’t show it as she let her hand fall to her side. ‘Actually, sir, I came here to inform Lieutenant Hawkeye that the general has requested your attendance in the Fuhrer’s office in an hour.’

Roy kept his face impassive, carefully editing any surprise out of his expression. Heath wouldn’t normally call a meeting in the Fuhrer’s presence, so it was more likely that Hakuro himself had demanded an audience. ‘Do you have any information on what he needs to speak with me about?’

Jones gave a tiny grimace as she nodded her head. ‘It’s about Foster, sir. General Clarke has started asking questions and making demands. He addressed his concerns to the Fuhrer, rather than General Heath.’

Of course he would. Clarke was a suck-up, and he knew that going to Hakuro would be the quickest way to cut through Heath’s misdirection and get what he wanted. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant. Please inform the general that I’ll be there on time.’

With a quick nod, Jones departed, leaving the office in near-silence. Only the rustle of paperwork disturbed the peace, and Roy blinked as Hawkeye held out Foster's files for him.

'Thank you.' He made sure Heath's aide was out of ear-shot before he added to his men, 'Be careful who you trust. Do not discuss anything about Foster's case with Heath's men, especially Ed's involvement.' He shot a quick look at Havoc, who met his eye firmly. ‘I need to control the flow of information about this case. If anyone starts pumping you for information, on or off duty, then tell me.'

Everyone in the office gave a firm nod of understanding. They knew the importance of discretion and none of them would deliberately put Ed in danger, but accidents could happen, and one wrong word could be enough to bring this whole deception about Ed's alchemy crashing down around their ears.

Retreating into the inner room, Roy lit the fire with a snap. His desk was littered with paperwork, so he settled on the couch to re-familiarise himself with the nuances of Foster’s situation.

Of course, not all of it was documented. None of what had happened to Ed had found its way onto paper, and Roy planned to keep it that way. He didn’t know the specifics of why he was being summoned to the Fuhrer’s office, but he knew that he would have to be on his guard. Hakuro was no fan of Fullmetal, and if he got any inkling that something had happened, he would have Ed in the labs quicker than Roy could blink.

He tried to focus on the words as his stomach fizzed with worry, but his mind kept wandering back to Ed, and Foster, and the Fuhrer up in his office. Roy didn't notice the steady tick of the clock until it chimed the hour, and he glared at the numerals before getting to his feet.

This wasn't doing him any good. He would be a little early to the meeting, but that was preferable to being late. Besides, perhaps he could get more information from General Heath before he was thrown into the lion’s den. It would certainly be better than sitting here reading the same old stuff he'd seen before.

There was no way to tell how long he would be gone, and he told Hawkeye not to expect him back before lunch as he slipped out of the office once more and headed for the stairs. The Fuhrer’s rooms were in the high reaches of the tower, higher than everyone in the physical world, as well as the military hierarchy. It was a subtle way to lord over the masses, and Roy wasn’t sure that he would keep it there once he got to office. Surely it would be better to be in the military’s heart than above it?

Plush carpet whispered under his feet as he got to the right floor and walked down a corridor decorated with the portraits of former incumbents of office. Even Bradley was there, and Roy could not stifle the shiver of unease that worked its way down his spine as he met that pigmented eye.

Taking a deep breath, he altered his stride, making sure that each line of his body was confident, subtly superior and designed to grab the attention of anyone in the rooms at the end of the hall. He stepped through the door to the opulent outer office and gave a warm smile to the Fuhrer’s assistant. She was a sensible woman, not easily flustered by anyone, and she raised an eyebrow at him before motioning her head to the man standing by the window.

Heath’s hands were folded behind his back, and Roy saw a small piece of paper in his grasp. He was staring across the grounds, but he turned to give Roy a weak smile as he approached. ‘Mustang,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Sorry to call you here on such short notice, but I only received the request this morning.’

‘Do you have any specifics on what this is about, sir?’ Roy asked, watching Heath’s eyes dart towards the Fuhrer’s assistant before shaking his head.

‘I’m afraid my information was rather vague,’ he replied, holding out the piece of paper for Roy to take. ‘The Fuhrer must have his reasons, and it is not our place to question them.’

Roy unfolded the paper and scanned the message, taking care not to let his expression change in the slightest.

_“Clarke has been with the Fuhrer for hours. I have no doubt it was his influence that called us here. Tread carefully.”_

A nod was the only indication that Roy could give to show that he understood. However, it was enough, and he listened with half an ear to the general’s small talk as he tried to think of anything he knew that might help him gain the upper hand in the meeting.

The assistant’s telephone rang, and she picked up the receiver and murmured her understanding before replacing it on the cradle. ‘The Fuhrer will see you now,’ she said, getting to her feet to open the door for them and saluting as they passed. She didn’t follow them inside, and tension pinched Roy’s shoulders. If she did not attend, then the meeting would remain undocumented and off the record. According to the military files, it would never have happened.

That knowledge sat uncomfortably in the pit of Roy's stomach as he followed Heath inside, saluting the man who sat behind the large, mahogany desk. Behind him, vast windows showed an incredible vista of Central's better districts, but Roy didn't bother to admire the view. He was focussed on the man who led them all: Fuhrer Hakuro.

Office had not been kind to him. He was not yet fifty, and yet his pale brown hair was already riddled with grey. His face was lined, and the gleam in his eyes held the bitter edge of one who has power, but no plans to use it for the common good. The furniture dwarfed him: the chair was too big, the desk too wide. Bradley had been a big man and, for all his plots, he had still dominated any room. Hakuro lacked that skill, and it made him look weak.

However, as unremarkable as the Fuhrer was, he was a paragon in comparison to the man who stood behind his right shoulder, half-turned to look out of the window with a greedy eye. Clarke's face was bland, neither scarred nor attractive. His beard was trimmed and immaculate, and his eyes were a muddy brown. He was of an average build, with no real strength nor a pocket watch, and Roy knew for a fact that his intelligence was not dazzling, merely passable.

The only things out of the ordinary about Clarke were a missing finger on his left hand, and the kind of personality that could make a man's blood run cold. If you were his enemy, then one look into his eyes was enough to show that an unremarkable body harboured a cold and ruthless soul. Clarke didn't care what he had to do to achieve his personal ends, and Roy had the distinct feeling that somehow all this – Foster, Ed's alchemy, and maybe something even bigger – was linked with the general's goals.

'Heath, Mustang, thank you for sparing the time,' Hakuro said without a trace of genuine gratitude. He knew that when he shouted, the entire army jumped. Respect didn't come into it anymore. 'It has come to my attention that a man we have in the cells, Foster, was involved in some way with the Mendleton Lab scandal. I am transferring the handling of his case to the officer in charge of that investigation.'

'Who would that be, sir?' Heath asked, his tone clear of any insubordination. 'I was under the impression that Colonel Bellamy –'

'A colonel doesn't have the rank to deal with something like this, Heath,' Clarke sneered. 'You should know that by now. I'll be taking charge of the case. Bellamy is, after all, my subordinate, or will be, once the paperwork has been finalised.'

Roy glanced at Hakuro, trying to read anything but boredom in the man's face. Transfers of units from one command to another happened all the time, but Bellamy had ties with Intelligence and was supposed to remain independent of the main military. There were overlaps, of course, but putting Bellamy under Clarke's command compromised the integrity of any case they built against Mendleton Labs. Why would Hakuro sabotage that? What had Clarke said that made him believe it was necessary?

Heath cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Roy glanced over to see him almost glaring at Clarke. 'Forgive me, Fuhrer, but Foster's connection to the labs is tenuous at best. He is still being questioned about more recent crimes, including destroying military property and assaulting one of the Brigadier-General's men. The Mendleton Labs case has waited this long.' Heath straightened up, his voice strengthening as he added, 'All I ask is a few more days to complete our investigation.'

There was a moment of tight silence as Hakuro's frown gathered. His eyes turned cold, and Roy kept his face clear of all expression as that hard gaze bore into him. 'I am well aware of the involvement of the Fullmetal Alchemist in this situation, but, from what I've been able to find, there were no long-term ill-effects done to Major Elric by Foster's actions. He is guilty of assault; case closed.' Hakuro gave a thin smile. 'That is, unless there is something you are not telling us, Brigadier-General Mustang?'

Roy forced himself not to go tense or defensive. He kept the line of his shoulders smooth and his jaw soft, even though he longed to clench his teeth and snarl at the man.

'Our aim was not to confirm Foster's guilt of the assault, sir, but to examine his motives. His choice of target was deliberate, and I had hoped to find out more about his reasons for that.' It was a good answer, because it did not say much at all. It neither confirmed nor denied Hakuro's thinly veiled accusation, and it was at least a fraction of the truth.

Clarke gave an undignified snort, turning to face the room for the first time. 'The man's mad, Mustang. What do his reasons matter? He talks in riddles anyway, if at all.'

'I was unaware you had spoken to him, Clarke,' Heath said mildly. 'I did not see a request for an interview with the prisoner.'

Clarke grimaced, turning to Hakuro and saying, 'It was an informal interview, sir, and I did not feel it necessary to ask Heath's permission. His restrictions on the prisoner seem excessive to me, anyway.'

'He is a dangerous man, sir,' Roy replied. 'General Heath put those constraints in place for safety reasons. Besides, if his mental health is compromised, then his testimony will be of no use to you in your investigation. Changing the jurisdiction of the case now might be considered by some of the other high-ranking officers as a wasteful exercise. They may question the wisdom of such a decision.'

It was a risky gamble, one that Roy knew could go either way. It bordered on insubordination to the general, if not the Fuhrer himself, but if there was one thing Hakuro wanted to avoid, it was strife in the upper ranks.

Clarke was glaring at him through narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched in anger, and when he spoke it was in a vindictive, petty tone. 'Unfortunately for the Brigadier-General, there is no record of this meeting. Should he try and stir up ill-feeling among the higher ranks, he would be hard pushed to give them any proof of this decision.' His next words were obsequious, almost whining, and Roy pursed his lips in irritation. 'Fuhrer, sir, we agreed that this course of action was for the best. I think –'

Hakuro raised a hand, cutting Clarke off mid-sentence. Calmly, he looked at Roy before transferring his gaze to Heath. 'Thank you both for your input, but I agree with Clarke in this case. Foster might hold valuable information that could lead us back to the lab owners and help us clean away the smear that Mendleton Labs has left on our city. Foster will be moved to a secure facility in the morning. That should give you time to question him again if necessary. After that, he is no longer under your jurisdiction. Do I make myself clear?'

Roy glanced over at Heath, knowing that they had lost. There was nothing they could do to prevent Clarke from ferreting Foster away somewhere, and nothing they could say to make Hakuro see the sense of changing his mind. Roy’s thoughts were screaming around his head, demanding to know how Ed was meant to retrieve what Foster had stolen without the man in question, but to mention Fullmetal any further only risked exposing him to Hakuro and Clarke, and that was something he would never do.

‘I’ll have all the necessary documentation with you by morning, Clarke,’ Heath said in clipped tones, flicking his hand in a sharp salute. ‘If we may be dismissed, sir?’

Hakuro nodded his agreement while Clarke looked on, smug and self-satisfied. Roy didn’t bother sparing him a second glance as he saluted the Fuhrer and followed General Heath from the room. He waited until they were well out of earshot of both Hakuro and his secretary before he asked, ‘What are your orders, sir?’

His commanding officer slowed his stride, meeting Roy’s eyes with a steady gaze as he shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Leave the paperwork to me. You need to ask Foster every damn question imaginable before Clarke revokes our access. Work every angle: the labs, his arrays, his past and his future. Clarke won’t give a shit about the truth. He’s doing this for his own means, and he’ll paint the prettiest picture for himself. We need to be the ones to show his lies for what they really are.’

Heath heaved an angry sigh, glancing over his shoulder as he added, ‘I’ll stall the general if I can, but it’s up to you to get the answers you need before time runs out. I know there’s more going on here than you’re telling me, Mustang, but I’ve seen what you can do when you put your mind to it, and my presence would only get in your way. I’m afraid once Foster’s in Clarke’s hands, then you’re on your own.’

Roy nodded once, not daring to vocalise any answer that might be misconstrued. Even if Heath appeared to be on his side, happy to stand back for now and let him proceed, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t turn against them all at a later date. He was not about to confirm or deny any of Heath’s unvoiced suspicions.

With a quick salute, he hurried away, leaving the general to his thoughts as he trotted down the stairs. The corridors to the office were almost deserted, and he opened the door to the familiar room, stopping on the threshold as he began to issue orders.

‘Hawkeye, get hold of Ed. Tell him to meet me outside Foster’s cell. Breda, go to Hughes. Tell him that General Clarke will be moving the prisoner to an undisclosed location tomorrow morning, and that if we need any more information, then we have to get it tonight.’ He hesitated, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to think. ‘As for the rest of you, I need copies of every document Intelligence has pertaining to Foster, before Clarke takes them away. We don’t have long, so get to it.’

‘And you, sir?’ Hawkeye asked gently, already reaching for the phone. ‘I assume you will be out of the office for the rest of the day?’

Roy nodded, letting his hand fall back to his side as he met her calm brown eyes. ‘Yes, Lieutenant. Any other issues that need my attention will have to wait until tomorrow.'

He turned away, leaving his staff to carry out their duties as he prowled back towards Intelligence. He should have known that this would happen – that Foster would not remain in his handy little cell forever – but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. At the very least he thought they would have more warning, but Clarke hadn't wasted much time at all.

On the surface of things, he knew that the investigation into Foster's activities was an open-and-shut case. There were witnesses, and any trial would be straight-forward, but the true extent of what he had done could never be made public. To Ed, the consequences would be disastrous, possibly even fatal if the military got their hands on him, and what would happen to other alchemists once people discovered there was a way to block the ability to transmute?

Roy dragged a hand across his forehead, yanking his thoughts away from that avenue of consideration. He couldn't go there. If he started to dwell on everything that might go wrong, he would never make any progress. Better to only think of today and tonight, of the precious hours they had to unearth as many of Foster's secrets as possible. Tomorrow could wait. Right now, the clock was ticking, and he didn't have time to waste with his fears.

Hughes was waiting for him outside the Intelligence office, his expressive face tense and concerned. 'How long have we got?' he asked, concentrating on the essentials.

'Until the morning, if we're lucky,' Roy replied, 'but possibly less. Clarke's not too concerned about following the Fuhrer's precise orders. He already had an informal interview with Foster, and no request was sent through Heath. Do you know anything about that?'

Maes shook his head. 'It must have been before we moved him here.' His eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and his brow twisted in a puzzled frown. 'Did Foster actually speak to Clarke?'

Roy nodded his head slowly. 'The general didn't say as much outright, but it was implied. He mentioned Foster's answers not being clear or reliable.'

'In that case, what makes Clarke any different from the rest of us? Why would Foster talk to him and Ed and no one else?' Hughes sighed, shaking away the question as he tipped his head towards the door to the office. 'I guess that's not important right now. I've got Sergeant Kennedy working on a list of questions. She's a lateral thinker; I've seen her pursue lines of questioning that seem irrelevant, only to get the answers we were hoping for. The thing is, she doesn't know anything about Ed's condition, so she can only concentrate on Foster's past and Mendleton Labs.'

'That's better than nothing,' Roy pointed out. 'It means we can concentrate on other things.' He rubbed at the knot of tension forming in the back of his neck as he added, 'Ed should be here within half an hour. Somehow I doubt Foster will have changed his mind about who he does and doesn't want to talk to.'

'Probably not,' Maes murmured. 'Will you be back in the observation room?' His eyebrows lifted in surprise when Roy shook his head. 'Are you sure?' he asked, choosing his words with care in case someone could overhear them. 'Considering what happened last night, aren't you concerned about Foster?'

'Of course I am, but I need to be able to put forward questions as they come to me.' Roy waved a hand in vague emphasis. 'You know as well as I do that interrupting the flow of an interrogation can give the prisoner a chance to regroup. Foster's hard enough to get a straight answer from at the best of times.'

Hughes did not look convinced, but eventually he reached into his pocket, digging out a key and moving along the corridor.

'What are you doing?' Roy asked, not bothering to straighten up from where he leaned against the wall. 'Foster won't say anything to us without Ed here.'

'I'm not questioning anyone,' Hughes said calmly, opening the door to the observation room and checking inside before he closed it again and inserted the key into the lock. The tumblers clicked into place, and Maes gave a crooked smile. 'The only way to view proceedings is by standing on the other side of that glass. I'm making sure that no one but you, me, Ed and Foster knows what goes on in that cell. Clarke's not the only one who can play secretive little games.'

Roy closed his eyes, giving a thankful smile for his friend's forward-thinking. 'Sorry,' he murmured. 'I should have thought of that.' He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. 'I knew something like this was going to happen, so I don't understand why it's left me so unsettled.'

'Isn't it obvious?' Hughes asked, keeping his voice low as he moved closer. 'You have more than a professional interest in this now. You've forged a personal bond with Ed, and what happens to Foster has a direct affect on his well-being. Everyone is shaken when someone they care about ends up in the firing line.' He propped his shoulder against the wall. 'All we can do is make the most of the opportunity we have. Let's start from the beginning and go over everything we know relating to Foster.'

'Is it wise to talk about this in the corridor?' Roy asked, glancing around the empty stretch of hallway.

'In this part of the building, they're the only walls without ears,' Maes said. 'No secret's safe in my office, and we can keep an eye on who's lurking around. Just watch what you say and how loud you say it.'

With a nod, Roy started at the beginning, talking in hushed tones. Now and again Hughes would interrupt, adding another facet of the tangled story to his narrative. Whatever was happening went a long way beyond Foster. The man was a common link between Mendleton Labs and Ed's attack, but were the two connected in any other way? And what about Clarke?

In the end, all they could do was speculate. They had no real evidence of any wrong-doing on Clarke's part. All Roy had were his own, shrilling instincts that something was amiss. He didn't trust Clarke, but that alone would not be enough to make the Fuhrer change his mind.

Roy looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps, feeling a thrill jolt through him. His heart leapt like an excitable puppy, shaking off its confusion and doubt at the sight of Ed coming towards them, and a sudden rush of nervous exhilaration made his mouth go dry.

Ed walked with his head down, his hands tucked in his pockets and a thoughtful frown resting on his brow. The blonde ponytail whispered past his shoulders, striking gold against the black jacket he was wearing, and Roy's fingers tingled with the memory of stroking through those long tresses.

He didn't know what he was expecting after last night, but Roy realised that Ed didn't exactly look relaxed: his shoulders were tense and his jaw was hard. However, the dark shadows under his eyes had bleached out, and his expression was no longer locked in lines of defeat.

'I'll go and see if Kennedy has compiled those questions, yet,' Maes said, following the line of his gaze and patting Roy companionably on the shoulder. 'Just remember, no molesting each other in the corridors.'

'Hughes...' Roy sighed as his friend chuckled, bidding Ed a cheerful hello before slipping into the Intelligence office and closing the door behind him.

Ed dragged himself from his thoughts to mumble a response, but when he lifted his head he didn't even glance in Maes' direction. He was too busy watching Roy. For once, he wasn't scowling, but there was a worried crease to his brow that suggested he wasn't at peace, and the smile of greeting didn't quite reach his eyes.

Roy turned around to face Ed properly and took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He was careful to make sure they weren't standing in a way that anyone would think of as intimate, but the air between them still seemed to crackle with electricity. Yet, compared to last night, it was muted – tamed by Ed's obvious uncertainty.

'Ed, what's wrong?' Roy asked quietly, clenching his hands to prevent himself from reaching out. The instinctive desire to soothe was almost overwhelming, and he barely held it in check. Something was clutching tight around Roy's heart, and fearful questions began to surface. Had Ed changed his mind? Was he about to say that them being together wasn't a good idea after all? Roy was so used to looking at Ed's face and seeing anger that now, faced with something different, he didn't know how to read it.

Maybe his fear was on his face for the world to see, because gold eyes blinked at him in surprise and, this time, the smile was genuine. 'Nothing,' Ed replied, his voice a little rough. 'Sorry. I've just been working on the code all morning and getting nowhere. Even when I leave the fuckin' books at home it's like they're still following me around.'

His hand reached towards Roy: a tiny flicker of movement before Ed snatched it back and clenched his fingers tightly. He ducked his head, his voice dropping into an embarrassed murmur as he repeated, 'Sorry. We can't do that here, can we?'

The vice-like grip around Roy's heart lessened, falling away and leaving him achingly happy at Ed's guileless desire to be touched and held. 'No. I wish it was different, but we can't act as if anything has changed. Not here in headquarters or out where anyone from the military might see us.'

Ed bit his lip, dragging in a deep breath as he nodded in understanding. 'But behind closed doors?' he murmured. There was no shield in the world for all the hope and want in his gaze, nor anyway that Roy could ignore the way he tilted his head, instinctively exposing his neck and inviting him closer.

'We can do whatever we want,' Roy replied softly, letting a fraction of his desire quietly sheath his words. It was so tempting, here and now, to forget everything about responsibility and duty, to just drag Ed off somewhere and worship him in the way he deserved, but he didn't have that kind of freedom.

Ed gave a bright grin, as if Roy had just promised him the world. It was so strange and perfect to see him so unguardedly happy about anything, and Roy had to keep reminding himself that he was the cause of Ed's trusting joy. He was so busy marvelling at that glowing realisation that he almost missed Ed's question.

'So what's going on?' Ed asked, leaning back a little. 'I'm guessing you had some kind of reason for calling me in here?.'

Roy sighed, giving a tight nod as he forced himself to concentrate on the professional, rather than the personal. It wasn't an easy task, and he didn't try to keep the earnest regret out of his voice as he explained, 'I'm sorry, but there's a problem with the investigation. I've been informed that Foster's being moved to a secure, undisclosed location tomorrow morning, and we won't have access to him after today.'

A huff of mirthless laughter escaped Ed's lips, and he dragged a hand through his hair before rolling his shoulders in a shrug. 'When Hawkeye called, I guessed that the military had pulled some stupid shit like that. Is that why you need me here? To ask him more questions?'

Before Roy could do more than nod, the door to Intelligence opened and Hughes stepped out. In his hands was a folded sheet of paper, and he tapped it against his hand as he said, 'Foster's ready. We don't have the luxury of trying to get him to play by our rules, so we're going to need you as a go-between, Ed.'

Gold eyes took on a thoughtful slant as Ed glanced along the corridor to check if it was empty. 'I want to talk to him for a couple of minutes first. He doesn't want to tell me anything about the code, but maybe I can scare him into giving something up. I need something or, at the rate I'm going, I'm never going to get my alchemy back.'

'Of course,' Roy replied, knowing that any denial of Ed's assessment would be ignored. 'The only thing you can't do is hit him, but if you can frighten him with words then you might as well try.'

'Has his behaviour got worse?' Ed asked, falling into step by Roy's side as they moved towards the interrogation room.

'No, but he's no better either. He's been non-violent so far, and I have to admit that's making me nervous.' Hughes hesitated with his hand on the door. 'It's almost like he's waiting for something, but I've got no idea what.' With a shrug, he pushed his way into the cell, standing aside to let Roy and Ed through.

Foster was sitting in the centre of the room, slumped and bound in his chair. His lank hair was a scruffy mess, and days of stubble darkened his jaw. He looked like a man with no reason left to live but, as soon as he saw Ed, he changed. Rounded shoulders straightened, and he jerked his head up like he was a puppet on strings, his lips flicking into a sneer as he noticed Roy. Yet he didn't say a word. Instead, he leaned forward in his chair, straining against his restraints as Ed stopped in front of him.

'Worked it out yet?' he asked, his voice lilting musically. 'Undone the riddle? Solved the puzzle?' He cocked his head to the side, the movement too sudden and jerky to be human. 'No, you haven't. Course you haven't. You know nothing.'

Ed's expression didn't change. It remained bland and uninterested, but as Roy moved to stand at the wall parallel to where Foster sat, he could see the hard burn of anger and frustration in Ed's eyes. He might not want to show it, but Foster's taunts were hitting the mark.

'I know what's going to happen to you,' Ed replied. 'The military like people like you – people with no one in the world who will notice that they're missing.'

Foster's eyes narrowed distrustfully, at odds with the beatific smile on his lips. A questioning noise chirped in his throat, and he glanced over at Roy before looking back at Ed.

'If you're lucky, they'll just kill you,' Ed said, and there was a weight to his words that made even Roy's skin crawl. 'They won't care what you did to me, or in the labs – they won't care about any of that. They'll tear you apart, and no one will ever be able to appreciate all your hard work.' He looked down at the glove that covered his right hand, flexing his fingers thoughtfully as he added, 'It's a shame. You'll never get the credit you deserve.'

It was almost as if Ed had physically punched Foster in the face. The man was pale, mouth gaping like a fish out of water and his skin beaded with sweat. He was shaking in his restraints, lost in his panic at the portrait Ed painted of his future.

Roy met Hughes' eyes, sharing a brief look of surprise at Ed's insight. They had been too busy thinking of Foster as a prisoner and an obstacle to remember that, where there was humanity, there was pride, and Ed had played on that perfectly.

'No, no they won't forget me! They can't forget me!' Foster keened, his eyes overly-bright. 'All I did for them – created and destroyed, took and used and broke apart.' He choked on his next breath, gasping as tears trickled over his lashes. 'I proved what you are – closed the Gate, blocked it out and opened it again – '

He stopped, the words rattling off to nothing in his throat as the fear drained away. Foster blinked, and Roy could see the moment that he changed. His eyes became more focussed and piercing, and his smile turned sharp. His movements had more control, and his words were clear, but it was still Foster: the same body – a different man.

'You're lying. You don't know what they'll do to me,' he snarled, his lips pulled tight in a grinning rictus. 'You don't know what I'll do to _them_. I won't be forgotten, not for a long time.'

A shiver etched its way down Roy's spine at the chilling quality of Foster's voice. Even bound and locked away, this part of him did not seem helpless or afraid. Even trapped in a cage, he was still a predator, and the glow of his eyes never left Ed's face even for a second.

Roy wanted to step between them, to block Ed from that hungry expression, but he knew it wasn't an option: he couldn't be seen to be so protective, least of all in front of Foster.

'What are you talking about?' Hughes asked, sighing in irritation when Foster pursed his lips shut. 'What are you planning to do?'

Ed's arms were folded, and Roy could see the faint lines of hopelessness slicing their way across his features. He needed Foster's answers, they all knew that. In a weaker mental state, it was easier to lead the man into giving things away, but now he was a locked door to them, fully conscious of his decisions and the advantage he had over them. They could not give him anything in exchange for his cooperation. He had the upper hand, and he knew it.

Time slipped by as the interrogation continued. Ed passed on their queries in a tight voice, impatient at the childishness of Foster's games. Sometimes they got vague answers, but others they were met with nothing but silence, and Roy's head was beginning to pound as stress pushed his blood-pressure higher.

The lights were buzzing, and the flicker of the bulb, too fast to see but there all the same, was steadily building the ache behind his eyes. Roy felt like he'd been in here for years, imprisoned within four concrete walls and the bars of his ignorance. The tendons in his fingers felt like taut wire, itching to release his frustration in the quick snap and a punishing burst of flame.

Foster would probably talk to save his own skin, but then maybe even self-preservation was beyond him. His weaker side seemed to hold fear, but this stronger face was apathetic to threats and promises. There had been no sign of a personality change in the hours that had passed, and Roy wished he knew what triggered the alteration of mental state. If they could get Foster to panic again, then maybe he'd let some answers slip.

They were all tired, frazzled and annoyed by the prisoner's lack of cooperation. Hughes' head was bowed, his eyes shut and his fingertips pressed to his forehead as he fought for patience. Ed had long ago given up on standing still, and now he prowled the room like a tiger in a cage, all tightly-coiled strength and simmering rage.

Suddenly, Foster straightened up again, his head swinging around to face Ed as his eyes lit up with something. He licked his chapped lips, so dry that they were almost bleeding, and snapped a single word:

'Boom!'

Roy frowned in confusion, parting his lips to ask Foster what he was talking about, but the words never left his lips.

The thick, heavy thud of an explosion roared through the air, shaking the walls and making the floor roll. The lamps swung madly on their tethers, and plaster dust rained down around them like dirty snow as Foster's chair shifted in place. The bolts held it to the floor, but the room continued to shake as the thunderous sound resonated through the building, finding its way into every crack and shaking at the foundations.

Finally, the noise died away, leaving a brief, grave-like silence in its wake. Roy lowered his arms from around his head and glanced across the room, checking on Ed and Hughes. Neither of them were hurt, although Maes' face was pale with shock and Ed's was rapidly darkening with anger. In the distance, Roy made out the sound of fire-alarms and the shouts of panicked soldiers, but Foster's laughter cut him off before he could say a word.

It choked out of him, a rattle of joy as he tipped his head back towards the ceiling, grinning at the shattered stonework. 'Boom!' he chuckled again, gurgling to himself before his face twitched back to a serious mask and, for the first time, he looked straight at Roy.

'They'll never forget me.'


	14. Chapter 14

The rumbling roar pounded at Ed's ears, shaking his bones and stealing the breath from his lungs. Instinctively, he put his hands over his head, cringing in expectation of the harsh crush of falling stone. Dust rained down, covering everything with a sandy sheen. The walls creaked and groaned, flexing strangely, but they held steady until, at last, an eerie silence fell across the cell.

Immediately, Ed looked up, squinting through the haze to Roy. His hair was streaked grey with plaster and his uniform was a mess, but there were no scarlet trails of blood across his skin. Ed watched him straighten up, searching for any hint of pain, but Roy didn't let anything show. Instead, his face was pinched with uncertainty and, beneath that, a rapidly growing spark of anger. That, Ed could understand. It was easier to be furious than afraid.

Roy looked up at him, dark eyes wide with alarm as they searched him for any signs of harm. If it hadn't been for the continuing groans of the building around them, he would probably have closed the distance to get a closer look, but there wasn't time for that.

Distantly, fire-alarms began to shrill, and Ed looked towards the door. No smoke billowed past the tiny window, and there was no bright flicker of flames beyond the threshold. Still, that didn't mean that they were safe. The shock of the explosion was already wearing off, and instinct was taking over. Ed's thighs ached with the need to run, and his muscles were tense and ready to fight.

A gasping choke of laughter made him look around, lips twisted in a snarl as he realised that the noise was coming from Foster. The fucker thought it was funny. He'd jerked them around for hours, and now he was acting as if they were part of some sick joke.

Ed's fists tightened, and the simple, clean urge to punch swept through him. One blow and he could probably break the bastard's neck. At least it would stifle the cracked, dying chuckle that hacked out of Foster's throat.

The mirth suddenly vanished, and Ed's rage flared bright red across his vision as Foster turned his head towards Roy. He looked Mustang slowly up and down as if he were just a piece of meat before he murmured, 'They'll never forget me.'

A shrieking bell cut through the air, crying out its warning and Ed saw, rather than heard, Roy spit a curse. Whatever had happened, it was gradually triggering every alarm in Central Command, and now the ones in the hall outside had joined the discordant song. Blurs of uniform moved along the corridor as soldiers hurried back and forth, and Hughes yanked the door open, bellowing over the racket for the guards to come and secure Foster.

'Someone tell Kennedy to have a truck waiting by the East doors. We need to get him to the jail on the other side of the base!' Hughes yelled, jabbing a finger at Foster as several grim-faced soldiers hurried in. Two of them kept their guns in their hands and trained on Foster's head as the rest untethered him from the chair and dragged him to his feet. He moved like a puppet, docile and obedient but, when he met Ed's gaze, his expression was one of satisfaction. This was what he had wanted all along.

'Sir!' Hawkeye came to a halt at the threshold, her face flushed from sprinting and her hair coming loose from its clip. Her brown eyes were wide, but some of the horror left her face when she realised that none of them were hurt. Licking her lips, she straightened up, casting a quick glance over her shoulder as she shouted over the alarms, 'You're needed on the parade ground. Most of the West Wing is on fire, and it's getting out of control! They need help extinguishing the flames.'

'I'll stay with Foster,' Hughes said, flicking his fingers towards the door. 'Get out there and do your thing.' His smile was frail and his voice thickened with dark humour. 'You never know. You might get a promotion out of it.'

Roy didn't respond to that, but Ed watched him meet Maes' eyes, reinforcing his words with the strength of his gaze. 'Be careful. I don't know what happened, but I don't think it's any kind of coincidence. Be on your guard.'

'I always am.'

Ed took a step forward, automatically prepared to fall in at Roy's side, but a hand on his arm held him back. Roy's grip was gentle, but firm, and he shook his head as he explained, 'Ed, I need you to go with Hughes and keep an eye on Foster. Your alchemy will be more useful there.'

A confused frown curved his brow, and he almost asked Roy if he'd hit his head and forgotten what Foster had done to him before he saw Mustang glance towards the guards who still surrounded the prisoner. He couldn't clarify anything out loud, but it only took Ed a couple of seconds to follow Roy's train of thought. If he went to the scene of the fire now, then there was every chance he'd be ordered to use his alchemy. There was too much chance of his secret being revealed, and Ed's stomach clenched anew with his helplessness.

Fuck, he hated being like this. Even after days of training, he was still half the person he used to be. He could see the sorrow in Roy's eyes, hidden from everyone but him. He knew that Mustang hadn't wanted to remind him of his weakness, but there wasn't any choice. Ed couldn't think through things like that. He dealt in the immediate, but Roy thought of every possible outcome and, in the end, he was only trying to keep Ed from falling deeper into the grasp of the military.

He gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing he couldn't even reach out and touch Roy in reassurance. Instead, Ed gave a silent nod of understanding and tried to soften the anger and self-pity from his expression. Roy needed to see that he was all right with this, and Ed did his best not to feel any kind of resentment at being sent away.

'Sir... .'

Roy nodded at Hawkeye's gentle urging, meeting Ed's eyes for one long moment before he strode away. Ed couldn't make out their footsteps over the continuing wail of the fire alarm, but he knew that they would have broken into a run, and the muscles in his legs twitched with the wish to follow them. He loathed being out of the loop, pushed aside for his own good. There wasn't any choice, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

Hughes waved his hand in a beckoning motion, letting the guards lead the way. He drew his gun, keeping it trained on the back of Foster's skull as they moved slowly along the corridor. 'If I had a spare, I'd give it to you,' Maes said, loud enough for Ed to pick up the alarms, but too quiet for Foster to hear. 'Roy might get all the glory for putting out the fire, but we're doing the real work. He's right to be concerned. This could easily be an attempt by someone to break Foster out of here.'

Doors had been left standing open by soldiers in their hurry to evacuate, and Ed glanced into each room as they passed, tense and alert for any threats as Hughes' words lingered in his mind. The explosion was the perfect distraction. Anything could be taken while the base was in chaos: papers, property or prisoners. He'd thought that Roy was trying to keep him safe, but now he was beginning to realise that perhaps he'd been entrusted with the more important task of keeping Foster in chains.

Ed glared at the back of the bastard's head, wishing he could see his face. He acted like he had known what was going to happen, almost like he was the one that triggered it, but that was impossible. Remote alchemy didn't work like that. The energy to activate the array couldn't drift through the air. It was like pouring water down a funnel; it needed lines drawn in the ground, or it simply dispersed, useless. No one could will something to happen and have it work, could they?

Suddenly, the alarms cut out, leaving a hollow silence in their wake. It settled like an eerie shroud over Ed's ears, and tension prickled down his spine. The myriad of walls that made up Central Command muffled any noise from the fire, and the deserted hallways had a ghostly quality.

Ed could sense the increasing nervousness of the guards. They were all braced and waiting for an attack, and every little whisper of sound was enough to make the guns twitch in their hands.

'This way,' Hughes said, jerking his head down a corridor to one of the side doors. 'There'll be a truck waiting to take us to the other side of the base. At least out there we won't be such obvious targets. Right now, I feel like a sitting duck.'

Ed nodded in agreement, trying to shake off the prickling feeling that something was watching him. More than once, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to discern anything in the brightly lit halls, but there was only the creeping haze of smoke  
spreading through headquarters.

True to Hughes' words, a truck was waiting, the engine running as the young woman in the driver's seat watched for their arrival. She gave a brief salute of greeting, waiting patiently as the guards and Foster were all bundled into the open back. A canvas cover shielded them from sight, and Hughes and Ed hauled themselves up last. Maes never took his eyes or his gun off of Foster, but Ed glanced over his shoulder as they sped away, taking in the grim sight of Central Command.

A thick pall of choking black smoke rose from the west side, and he could see that one of the gates in the wall had been blown apart. Flickers of red glowed in the heart of all the smog, and sparks shot upwards, shooting stars finding their way back up into the sky. He could hear shouts and see men forming up into bucket chains, trying desperately to stop the spread. The faint flare of alchemy suggested that it wasn't just Roy who was trying to help extinguish the blaze, but Ed's relief was short-lived as another roar heralded the collapse of more rubble.

If he had his alchemy... .

Ed tore his eyes away from the scene, scowling at the floor as he shoved the thought from his mind. Wishing got him nowhere, hadn't he learned that lesson over the years?

He did not have long to dwell on the shadows of his thoughts. The grim prison building used to contain those awaiting military trial was no more than a half-mile across the base, and the truck wheels ate up the distance before it pulled to a stop outside the gates.

The building itself was isolated and kept behind a secondary perimeter. Even if the whole of Central Command burned to the ground, then this place would still stand.

Security was as tight as it could be, and several grim-faced guards watched the truck with distrusting eyes. They were armed and ready for any kind of trouble, but it wasn't the three soldiers who caught Ed's eye. A bland faced man stood in front of the door, unarmed and immaculate. His lips twitched into something like a sneer as his eyes fell on Ed, and even all the stars on his shoulder weren't enough to stop Ed from scowling back.

'General Clarke,' Hughes' voice fell easily into the light-hearted tone he often used when he didn't want people to know what he was really thinking. 'Are you on your way to help put out the fire?'

Ed glowered, taking a better look at the man who had decided Foster would be better off under his control. He looked unremarkable and dull. Most generals had something going for them, but this guy looked like he was made out of cardboard.

'Actually, Lieutenant-Colonel, I've come to take Foster into custody. The Fuhrer felt that someone of adequate rank should be present at this challenging time. It would be a shame if he were to escape now. One can only imagine where the blame may fall.' The threat was clear in his words, and Ed bristled again when Clarke gave him a pointed look. 'People might say that those who were guarding him had their own motives for setting him free. We wouldn't want to risk anyone's good reputation should the worst happen.'

In the distance, there was another thud of a secondary explosion, and Ed whipped his head around to watch another pillar of smoke join the first. The other soldiers did the same, and a ripple of unease went through Hughes' men.

It was unreal. Only a short-distance away people were hurt and dying, choking on smoke and trying to save their friends. He should be there, helping Roy, rather than getting dragged into some petty political game that he didn't understand!

'Very well, sir,' Hughes replied, not bothering to spare more than a glance over his shoulder at where Foster stood, calm and quiet in his circle of sentries. 'How would you like to proceed?'

Ed glanced sideways at Maes, noticing the faint lines of anger bracketing his mouth. He didn't like Clarke any more than Roy did, but there was nothing either of them could do. Even Roy didn't have enough rank to go against Clarke's orders, and there was only so far they could push the rules.

'Hand the prisoner over to me,' the general commanded, taking a step forward. 'He'll become my responsibility from this point forward, and you can return to the main building and assist with your comrades' efforts.' He smiled as he added softly, 'I am sure that they would value the help of the Fullmetal Alchemist.'

Ed stiffened, instantly on his guard. Roy had said that this bastard had managed to talk to Foster. What the hell had he heard? Desperately, Ed tried to think rationally. If Clarke had any proof then Ed knew he'd already have been dragged to the labs by now. He was just trying to get some kind of reaction and, even though Ed hadn't said a word or thrown a punch, he still saw the satisfaction on Clarke's face.

'I'm sorry, sir,' Hughes said, shifting his weight to subtly shield Ed from Clarke's scrutiny. 'Our orders are to maintain custody of the prisoner until tomorrow morning. I can't hand him over without the correct paperwork for an immediate transfer.'

Behind Hughes' back, Ed grinned to himself – Maes had been in the military as long as Mustang, if not longer, and he knew all the same little tricks. Clarke had been caught out by the army's own bureaucracy, and he knew it. The general's face was turning an unhealthy shade of red and his hands clenched in furious fists. He hadn't expected to have to deal with someone like Hughes. No doubt he'd been hoping that only a few privates would be guarding Foster, and that the sheer difference in rank would lend him the authority he needed.

When he spoke again, his voice was harsh with anger, and the gloss of civility faded from his expression. 'Then I will accompany you to the cells. I don't care for the game Mustang is playing, and I can assure you, Lieutenant-Colonel, that I have no sympathy for any pawns who get in my way.'

Hughes ignored Clarke's comment, standing aside to let his men usher Foster forward into the prison. They had all been watching the exchange with growing unease, and Ed saw the soldiers visibly relax as they finally crossed the perimeter into the secure building. They were led across a small yard towards the main entrance, passing several more guard checkpoints as they went.

The cells were arranged in blocks. Most were empty, and those that were occupied were hidden in shadow. Ed tried not to look too hard into the gloom, or think about how many of the people behind bars might have him to thank for their captivity, but he could feel the weight of those hidden gazes upon him and sense the hatred seeping out from the shadows.

Suddenly, something leapt, slamming into the bars of its cell and making them resonate with their fury. The guards jumped in shock, and Foster struck like a snake. He twisted around, looping his arms over the head of one soldier and slamming the stocks back against his neck. The young man squeaked, dropping his gun to claw at the wood crushing his throat, but Foster's arms were bent at the elbow, holding him tightly in place.

'Don't even think about it,' Hughes snapped, pressing the gun to Foster's temple as the other soldiers lifted their weapons to take aim. 'Let him go, or we don't have to worry about keeping you in a cell. A coffin will do the trick.'

'No, don't shoot!' Clarke yelled, his hands outstretched as if to shield Foster. 'We need the prisoner alive, by order of the Fuhrer!'

Foster cackled as Hughes gaped in disbelief. 'Good little soldier,' he sang. 'Do what you're told or this one is gone.' He squeezed at the guard again, ignoring his flailing struggles to break free. The soldier's nails were digging into his arms and drawing blood, but Foster didn't seem to notice. Red was spreading over the grubby white of his prison clothes, but it was only when the guard got hold of something and pulled that Foster showed any signs of pain.

His shrieking scream echoed along the corridor, and blood spattered onto the floor. Before anyone could react, an ugly snarl twisted his face, and he slammed the wood back into the guard's exposed throat. Bone cracked beneath the force of the blow, and the guard went lax before slumping to the floor.

Ed expected Foster to make a break for it, but he hunched over, clutching his arms tight to his body as he gave hollow pants of agony. The assured gleam of manic intelligence was gone from his eyes. Whatever the soldier had done, it had flipped the switch in Foster's head and left him weak and unfocussed once more.

'Damn it!' Hughes spat, the gun in his hand shaking slightly as he kept it trained on Foster. 'Get him in a cell now!'

Ed bent down next to the guard, knowing before he even checked that the man was dead. His eyes were open and glazed, and the angle of his neck was wrong. Ed had grappled with Foster before, but he'd never thought the alchemist was so strong. Breaking a man's spine wasn't easy, not without wrenching his head around, but Foster had simply crushed him as if he were an insignificant insect rather than a human being.

Guilt reared its head, and Ed bit his lip, wondering if there was anything that he could have done. Yet, even as the doubts made themselves known, Ed realised they were pointless. He couldn't have stopped it from happening. Maybe if Foster hadn't known they couldn't kill him, he would have let his hostage go, but Clarke had given away that advantage.

He glared across at the general, expecting to see some form of remorse or regret, but the only thing in the wretched man's face was lingering fear. Whether it was for his own life or Foster's, Ed didn't know, but his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl of disgust all the same. This was the kind of man Mustang wanted to purge from the army forever and, now, Ed could see why.

'The prisoner needs medical attention before he's placed in a cell,' the general pointed out, smoothing down his jacket. 'See to it.'

'He just killed one of my men. He can bleed a bit longer, _sir_.' It was rare for Hughes to be so visibly angry, but Ed could see it now in the line of his jaw and the tightness of his fingers around the gun. The gaze behind his glasses was murderous and full of justified blame.

'He has rights. Besides,' Clarke said with an apathetic glance at the guard's body, 'soldiers are common enough. That prisoner is unique.' He raised an eyebrow when Hughes could only hiss in a deep, furious breath, too angry to speak. 'I will follow your men and ensure that Foster is treated and restrained. You are dismissed.' His gaze flickered to Ed. 'Both of you.'

The man's shoes tapped on the floor as he began to walk away, but Hughes' remaining men hesitated, looking to their direct superior for confirmation. Ed watched the unspoken questions between them and saw the answer in Maes' eyes. They had to follow Clarke's orders, but they wouldn't forget where their loyalties lay.

Without a word, Maes' men left, ushering Foster between them as they followed the general's lead. Even now, in the sudden shock of grief, they didn't lose sight of what was really important – making sure Foster was in custody.

'Want me to go with them? It's not like Clarke's orders mean shit to me,' Ed pointed out quietly, grimacing as Hughes shook his head in silent response. The man was leaning his shoulder against the wall, his gun limp in one hand while he shielded his eyes with the other. Mustang wasn't the only person who cared for his command, and even if Ed hadn't known the soldier, it still hurt to see him dead.

With clumsy movements, Ed reached out, wiping Foster's blood off of the guard's hands. There was more of it than there should have been for a few, panicked scratches, and he frowned in confusion as he dabbed it away.

Something gleamed in the harsh, fluorescent lights, and Ed blinked as he nudged open the man's curled fingers, revealing the nest of his palm. A small, metal bolt lay on the red-washed skin, and Ed plucked it from its cradle. It looked like something that might hold manacles to the floor or something, but how had that got there? Had the guard had it in his hand when Foster had grabbed him? Had he used it as a desperate weapon?

'What's that?' Hughes' voice was just a croak, choked off by emotion. He wasn't crying, but there were so many feelings flickering across his face that it was painful to watch. 'What did you find?'

Ed held up the smeared bolt, giving a shrug. 'It was in his hand, I don't know –' A distant sound interrupted him, and he glared along the corridor before looking back at Hughes.

'Pocket it,' Maes said quickly, stepping forward and crouching on the young man's other side. 'Is there anything else out of place?'

Ed looked over the body, patting his gloved hands along the floor for any sign of something unusual. 'No. Is there something in particular I should be looking for?'

Hughes shook his head, scrubbing his hand over his forehead. 'I don't know. I just –' He pursed his lips, green eyes lifting to the dead man's face as he let out a pained sigh. 'I don't know.' He met Ed's gaze apologetically. 'I want to believe that this was more than just a random act of a madman, that there was some method behind it, that there's someone to blame that I can punish.'

There was no reply to that. It was the kind of logic that Ed could understand, despite its flaws. Foster had broken the man's neck, but he was being hidden away – out of sight and out of mind – and Ed had a sinking feeling that none of them would set eyes on him again, let alone see any punishment. Then there was Clarke, who had taken away the only bargaining chip they had for the soldier's life with careless words, but that wasn't the kind of crime that any trial could bring to justice. That was just stupidity.

'I'm going to get a stretcher and a sheet. We need to get him to the morgue.' Hughes glanced up, looking out of the high, barred windows at the smoke that choked the air. 'Somehow I doubt be he'll the the only one there today. Watch him for me?'

Ed nodded, sitting on the dusty floor with his back to the wall as Hughes walked away. Part of him thought it was stupid, keeping a corpse company, but it wasn't about comforting a dead man. Grieving rituals were for the living. They were meant to make things easier and, somehow, leaving the guard alone in a corridor lined with criminal-filled cells was too much like abandoning him in enemy territory.

Folding his arms, Ed looked at the wall of ceiling-to floor bars opposite. Its inhabitant was the one who had startled them all and given Foster the chance to take his hostage, and Ed glared into the striped darkness, knowing that whoever was in there was probably staring back with equal hatred. He could almost make out a figure in the gloom, huddled against the opposite wall, and he tensed when he saw it shift in the dusk.

Something rasped over the floor, and Ed blinked in surprise as he saw a feminine hand sneak between the bars, skimming a piece of paper across the floor. Her fingernails were torn and ragged, as if she had been clawing at the walls and bars, and every movement was accompanied by the musical clank of chains.

'He dropped this,' she whispered in a cracked voice, the light skimming up her scrawny arm as she pushed it out as far as she could reach. Ed caught a brief glimpse of tangled hair and huge eyes in a half-starved face before she recoiled. He heard the thump of her back hitting the wall and the chatter of her teeth. She was terrified, or at least she was acting like it.

Part of Ed felt pity for her, but he wasn't a kid anymore, and he wasn't stupid. He was all too aware that the woman was probably locked up for a reason. It could be a trap – something to get him within her reach, or, he realised, it could be the key to unravelling this whole mess.

Shifting his weight, he lunged forward, grabbing the paper and retreating to a safe distance in one fluid movement. His gloved fingertips were clumsy, but he flicked the folded scrap open and read the neat handwriting on its inner face: an address, yesterday's date, and a time. Nothing else.

'Who dropped it?' he demanded. 'Foster? The one who did this?' He gestured to the man on the floor, trying to harden his heart against the frightened noise the woman made.

'No,' she croaked. 'The one with the beard.'

Clarke. He'd been the only one of the soldiers who had more than stubble across his face, and he had been standing closer to the cell than anyone else. Of course, that didn't mean it was anything relevant. Perhaps the general had arranged some kind of anonymous liaison with a mistress, or maybe it was a friend's place – but the sneaking suspicion that it was something more lingered in the back of Ed's mind.

'Why are you giving me this?' he asked, unable to keep the hard edge of suspicion out of his voice. It would be easy for someone to plant evidence here. A prisoner could be tempted with anything, from the promise of freedom to a hot meal: this could all be nothing but a set up. Yet her low, wretched answer was enough to ignite the first ember of belief in Ed's mind.

'Because I'm sorry.'

A sound at the end of the corridor made him look up to see Hughes and a couple of the prison guards heading his way. Their footsteps echoed back and forth and, within seconds, they were joined by the sound of Clarke's return. Hughes' men followed behind, blank-faced and grim, and Ed wondered what they would have to share with their commanding officer once they were back within the walls of the Intelligence Division.

Maes got to him first, and Ed stuffed the paper in his pocket as he got to his feet. Carefully, he helped Hughes to put the soldier's body on the stretcher, and covered him with the sheet. Without a word, two of Maes' men stepped forward to carry their fallen comrade back out to the truck. They hefted their load with ease, waiting for Hughes' nod of permission before they set off.

'The rest of us will get back to headquarters and try to help extinguish the fire,' Maes said roughly, speaking from between clenched teeth as he glared at Clarke, 'Unless there's something else you need, General?'

'I've already told you, Lieutenant-Colonel, you are dismissed.'

Hughes turned on his heel, not bothering to salute as he marched away with his men in tow. No one said a word, but Ed could feel the anger simmering in the air like the static before a storm. To lose soldiers during a war was painful, but it was something their loved ones and friends were prepared for. This death was made worse for being so unexpected, and Ed knew that the men would all be thinking the same, guilty thought beneath their shock and the first flare of grief.

_At least it wasn't me._

Ed looked up as Hughes fell back to walk at his side. His face was still pinched and tense, but his words had regained the soft, friendly tone that Ed had grown so used to over the years. 'I don't know what to do for the best. I appreciate Roy's concerns about you being at the scene of the fire, but the higher-ups know you're on base, and your absence is bound to raise questions. They're going to wonder where you are. It's a no-win situation.'

'Then I have to go,' Ed replied, rolling his shoulders in a shrug as they passed through the door and out into the courtyard. 'I need to try and avoid getting into a situation where someone asks me to use my alchemy – but that doesn't mean I can't help.'

Hughes nodded, narrowing his eyes against the sharp-scented smoke that wreathed the ground in its fog. 'If you make your presence felt by the low-ranking soldiers, the brass will soon hear that you were there helping out, rather than being conspicuously absent.' He jerked his head towards the command building as they stepped beyond the wall. 'It looks like Roy's got the worst of it under control, anyway.'

Ed followed his gaze, realising that the rising smoke was no longer flecked with sparks, and the flames had stopped their voracious climb into the air. There were still people scurrying around, ant-small from this distance and, as they got closer, Ed could see that the soldiers were shoring up walls and carrying the wounded, rather than desperately throwing water on a fearsome blaze.

'Be careful,' Hughes murmured in his ear as the men under his command broke into a sprint, shouting out questions and offering their assistance. 'I'll find Roy and let him know what's happening. Do what you can until you're given orders otherwise, okay?'

Ed nodded, turning away and surveying the wreckage as his mind raced. It was all well and good saying he could help, but without his alchemy what was he meant to do? The worst part was that everyone, even the privates, knew he was an alchemist, so what was to stop them asking him to transmute things to help them out?

Sucking in a deep breath, he made his way towards the epicentre of the destruction. Ambulances came and went, taking the severely injured to hospital. Triage tents had been set up for the walking wounded, and nurses hurried around, patching up scrapes and offering comfort and pain medication where they could. It looked like most of the soldiers on base had been evacuated, and Ed could see why.

The explosion had been high-impact. There was charred stone flung further than any man could throw it, and the bare ground was scorched and ashen. A shallow, dish-shaped crater in the distance showed the first point of the explosion, but there was no telling how much of the building had been affected. Just because the command tower itself appeared unscathed didn't mean the foundations weren't compromised. Stone was strange like that. It nurtured flaws for centuries, strong and firm, only to suddenly give way.

A spark of inspiration ignited in Ed's mind, and he moved forward with more purpose, aiming for the groups of soldiers that were bracing the walls with bits of timber. At first glance, it seemed like a bad idea. If there was one place that his brand of alchemy was particularly useful, it was in something structural, but one plain truth provided the perfect excuse.

He couldn't transmute anything until they knew the full-extent of the damage. There was every chance that he would patch one flaw only to put undue strain on another, and he didn't dare risk another collapse with so many people in harm's way. Alchemy might look flashy, but it was science, not magic, and nothing he could do would change the simple laws of physics.

It was a reason he found himself repeating more than once to different soldiers, and every time his heart clenched in fear of the forthcoming challenge. Yet he needn't have worried. In the end, everyone accepted his excuse and were too grateful for the extra manpower to question his logic, and Ed breathed a sigh of relief before getting down to work.

It was back-breaking labour, and he pushed every muscle to its limit as they supported walls and shifted rubble while structural engineers scurried back and forth, giving out orders in a no-nonsense tone that over-rode any boundaries of rank. All the while, the soldiers talked, and Ed kept half an ear on the spectacular rumours that were flying back and forth.

There seemed to be a dozen different theories about what had happened, each of them equally believable. Some people thought it was an accident, a gas main explosion at the main gate that had triggered a number of smaller blasts as the fire found gas pockets in the storage tanks below ground. Others swore it was a bomb, while others said they had seen nothing but a bright, white light before all hell broke loose.

Whatever happened, headquarters was a mess. Ed had already heard of several soldiers who had lost their lives in the explosion, and the number of injured was growing every minute as the rubble shifted and slipped, crushing anyone who got in its way.

Ed's clothes were sticking to him despite the chilly air, and his hair clung to his sweat-beaded cheeks as he worked. Other soldiers were taking off their jackets and rolling up their sleeves and, for the first time since Foster had laid a finger on him, Ed wished he still had his automail. He was sweltering to death, but he couldn't take off his jacket in case someone saw his arm. Also, he might never say it to her face, but Winry did good work. The automail was stronger than a real limb, and Ed's right arm was thudding with overuse, stiff and sore, and he knew without a doubt that it would hurt like fuck in the morning.

Someone touched his shoulder, and he looked up to see Havoc standing at his side. The man's jacket was long gone, and the white shirt was slicked grey and brown with dust. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a gash on his temple. Even as Ed watched, he was patting his pockets absently for a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly with lingering adrenaline. 'Mustang wants your help,' he said bluntly, nodding to one of the men before giving up on his hunt for a smoke. 'Unless you can't be spared?'

Ed glanced back at the sergeant who was trying to organise the uncertain soldiers into a useful task-force, indicating with his head that he had to go. The burly man gave a nod of understanding and a wave of thanks before grabbing another man to take Ed's place at the debris-strewn front-line.

'Do you know what did this?' Ed asked Jean as they picked their way closer to ground zero. The chunks of masonry were smaller here, and there was nothing left of the gate or the guard houses that had flanked it. The road had been cleared of debris first, and now it carved through the mess like a scar.

'That's what Mustang wants to talk to you about. The first explosion happened over here, and they think they found out what caused it,' Havoc's voice turned dark. 'Once they moved the bodies out of the way, that is.' The lieutenant ran a hand through his hair, giving an apologetic grimace as Ed cast him a questioning look. 'Soldiers are meant to die in battle against an enemy they can see, not be crushed by a ceiling falling in or blown to bits by fuck knows what. They're not meant to die on their own base, you know?'

'Anyone you knew?' Ed asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. He hadn't actually thought to ask if everyone from the office was all right. Mustang's men were always there, always strong, and he'd just assumed... .

'Not really,' Havoc replied with a heavy sigh that could have been relief or just exhaustion. 'I mean, I talked to a few of them in passing, but not very often. Doesn't make it any easier, though.' He stood aside, gesturing for Ed to walk ahead of him towards where Roy was hunkered down amidst the rubble.

Hawkeye stood at his shoulder, as watchful as ever, and all around there were other groups of soldiers working. Armstrong was there, as were a couple of other alchemists that Ed didn't recognise. Yet what drew his eye were the sheet-wrapped bodies that punctuated the grey of the debris: the surrendered dead. There were almost two dozen of them just in this one spot, and Ed didn't know if there were whole bodies under those shrouds or not, but his heart still sank at the sight.

Roy looked up as he approached, and Ed couldn't keep the wince off of his face. Mustang looked washed out, almost translucent with fatigue. Smudges of soot and bruises marked his face, and there was blood on his uniform jacket. The injury obviously wasn't too bad, or Hawkeye would have dragged him to the triage tents at gunpoint, but that didn't stop the fierce curl of protectiveness that coiled in Ed's chest.

'You all right?' he asked quietly, picking his way forward and hunkering down on the opposite side of the burnt earth that Roy was examining. He didn't dare move closer, because he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from reaching out. His skin craved for one quick touch of Roy's heat, physical contact to reassure them both, but that was something that he couldn't have. He had to be satisfied with words and distance.

'A bit scratched and tired, that's all,' Roy replied, smiling faintly before he gestured to the ground. 'What do you make of this?'

Reluctantly, Ed looked down, taking in the circle that lay at the centre of the flower of scorch marks. It was an array, at least at first glance, but it took only a few heartbeats to see what was wrong. It would never have transmuted anything. Whoever had drawn it had no clue what they were doing, and Ed drew his fingers lightly over the chaotic lines, frowning as his gloves came away covered in strange-coloured ash.

'This wouldn't work,' he said, looking up at Roy. 'Even an amateur alchemist would know that.'

'I know, but people who only ever see alchemy from the outside wouldn't,' Roy said quietly, shooting a quick, sideways glance at the thronging soldiers. 'Even people who work side-by-side with alchemists every day would see this as an array. It was the first thing Breda said when he uncovered it.'

Ed frowned across at the sergeant, who paused in his digging to look apologetic. 'It's what it looks like,' he said in his defence. 'That's what an array is to the average bloke in the street.'

'And if it's what you're thinking, then it's what everyone else is thinking, too,' Roy replied. There was no censure in his voice for Breda's hasty conclusion, but Ed did pick up on the darker, worried tone of his words.

'You think someone's trying to frame alchemists for this?' Ed whispered, following Roy's gaze and feeling, for the first time, the presence of a rift between the normal soldiers and those who carried the distinctive silver pocket-watch. 'What's the point of that?'

'I'm not sure, but it must be to do with the unrest out in the city. The military's always used alchemists, and it seems there are a growing number of people who want them to stop.' Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We need to tell the Fuhrer.'

'No need,' a new voice said, and Ed looked up to see Hakuro standing a short distance away. He was thronged by grim-faced aides and, at his right hand side, looking as if he was doing nothing more interesting than taking a stroll in the park, was General Clarke.

'Sir.' Roy got to his feet and saluted, and Ed belatedly realised he should probably do the same. 'We found this by the remains of one of the gate supports. It was enough to bring down this section of the wall and crush the guards inside the checkpoint.'

'An array,' Clarke said cooly, sparing it the barest glance. 'Why am I not surprised?'

'It's not an array, sir,' Roy replied, and Ed noticed that he was keeping his eyes trained on Hakuro's face, meeting the Fuhrer's eyes and ignoring Clarke completely. 'I realise that's what it looks like, but this design would never transmute anything. It couldn't ignite a spark, let alone an explosion. Whatever caused this damage, it wasn't this design.'

Hakuro looked at the ground, head bowed in thought before he said, 'We're going to need more than your word for that, Mustang.'

'It's hard to know who to trust in times like this, sir,' Clarke added, and now there was a smile curving his lips. 'I am sure, of course, that someone as distinguished as Brigadier-General Mustang would not try to pull the wool over your eyes out of choice, but some people might question his integrity. After all, if an alchemist did cause this damage, he may wish to protect others who carry the watch from the actions of a rogue.'

Ed clenched his teeth, eyes narrowed furiously as he saw exactly what Clarke was doing. Everyone was scared and on-edge, and the bastard was planting seeds of doubt with his every word. He was dividing them all and then standing back to watch the show. What the fuck was his game?

'Witnesses say they saw bright lights, like a transmutation a split second before the explosion,' Clarke continued, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he raised an eyebrow. 'Would you care to explain that?'

It was a challenge, and Ed knew he should keep his mouth shut, but the answer was so painfully obvious he couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. 'A light doesn't prove anything, it's just burning chemicals like magnesium. All someone has to do is spill some on the ground and drop a match and, at first glance, it'll look like a transmutation.'

'That seems a bit far-fetched, Major,' Clarke replied, scowling as Ed bent down and scooped up a handful of sandy ash in his hand, shaking out the grit so everyone could see the crystals left behind.

'If you don't believe me, go and drag a standard chemist from one of the labs. He'll tell you the same thing as me. Someone ignited some magnesium here,' He stirred the debris with his thumb and added, 'Arrays don't leave anything behind but remains of what was there in the first place, and this is too much to be found naturally in the ground.'

Clarke was already shaking his head, and Ed clenched his teeth, feeling the spark of his anger flare and grow as the man said, 'I don't need someone to collaborate your excuses, and I sincerely doubt you'll find many people who believe your explanation over the power of the evidence.'

'What evidence?' Ed snapped, narrowing his eyes as the wind stirred up the smoke and ash, sending it rattling across the ground. 'You're looking at a circle that does nothing and ignoring all the real proof!' The last word lingered on a fog of icy breath, and Ed shuddered as he realised how cold it was.

The sun hadn't yet gone down, but it felt as if night was already falling and taking the temperature with it. Now he'd stopped working, it was like the ice was finding its way under his skin and into his bones, but he didn't think it was _that_ cold out here. People were huddling in their coats, and one or two soldiers were murmuring in surprise as ice began to form across the grounds.

Ed ignored the frost that crackled under his boots, trying to control his anger as he met Clarke's impassive gaze. 'Whatever caused this explosion, it wasn't alchemy,' he snapped, 'and nothing you can say will change the facts.'

'Mustang, control your dog,' Clarke muttered, 'before I have him arrested for –'

'Prove it.' Hakuro's words cut across Clarke's lazy threat, and Ed blinked as he realised that the Fuhrer was talking to him. 'Show me that the array is useless. Try to activate it.'

'Sir!' Clarke and Mustang spoke at the same time, both protesting for different reasons, but a quick glare from the general forced Roy to hold his silence.

'If the array is usable, then the Major might set if off, endangering your life and the lives of your men!' Clarke exclaimed.

'And if the Major is in any doubt about his claim, then I am sure he will back down rather than risk activating it and blowing himself and the rest of us to pieces,' Hakuro said flatly. The look he gave Clarke was hard and cold, and Ed saw the general quail beneath it. 'Carry on, Major.'

Mustang shot a desperate, warning look in Ed's direction, and his stomach tightened in panic. This was what they had been trying to avoid, and now he'd been ordered to transmute something by the Fuhrer himself. Yet there was nothing he could do. If he backed down now, everyone would think that the array was dangerous, but he could see in one glance that the scrappy lines would never do anything. They wouldn't even light up.

The realisation splashed across his mind, as bright and vivid as paint, and he tried not to let any obvious signs of his relief show on his face as he knelt at the circumference and reached out. Even if he was still able to perform alchemy, this design would have remained cold and dead. It was like trying to get a transmutation out of a shopping list: no alchemist would drag so much a glimmer from its lines, and that meant that no one would realise that he could no longer transmute.

Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath and, when nothing happened, Ed felt them all slump with something like relief.

'How do we know he's even trying?' Clarke demanded, jerking back when Ed snarled. 'He could be faking it!'

'What's it going to take to make you believe me?' What –' A hand on Ed's shoulder brought him up short, and he pressed his lips together furiously, the picture of an enraged subordinate obeying Mustang's mute order for silence.

'Sir, we can stand here and argue,' Roy said quietly, 'or we can investigate. Regardless of whether this was a trigger, one fact is obvious: it's not big enough to have caused this amount of damage.' He waved a hand around the base, indicating the slumped wall and the crumpled wing of Central Command.

'Then find out what did, Mustang,' Hakuro ordered, resettling his coat around himself as he straightened his shoulders. 'This is a direct assault on the military, and I will not let anyone rest until we know who is responsible.'

Roy's salute was picture perfect, but Ed could guess that, underneath that mask of calm, there was a whole tangle of anger simmering away, hidden, but still dangerous.

It was only when Hakuro and his retinue were out of sight that Roy spoke, issuing orders with his usual clarity. 'Keep digging. If you see anything suspicious, tell me immediately. We need to know precisely what happened here. Only then can we get any idea of who is to blame.'

Lowering his voice, he turned to Ed, cuffing his tousled hair from his eyes as he said, 'Hughes told me what happened in the jail. Are you all right?'  
  
'Yeah,' Ed murmured, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. 'It's not me that Foster throttled to death. If it wasn't for that idiot Clarke –'

'Ed... .' Roy warned quietly. 'Be careful who you pick fights with. Clarke's got the Fuhrer's ear, and you'd be surprised at the harm he can do just by saying the right thing at the right time. We're lucky that array would have stayed dead for any alchemist. If it had been competent enough to take a charge, then we might have struggled to talk our way out of it.'

With a sigh, Ed nodded his head in understanding. Roy's tiredness was clear to see, and he knew that he was the source of at least some of Mustang's stress. There wasn't even anything he could do to wipe it away. In the end, he thrust his hands in his pockets, looking up at Roy from behind the fall of his hair as he asked, 'What do you need me to do?'

A smile curved Roy's lips, as if he knew how much it grated against Ed's dignity to ask for orders and was thankful for the sacrifice. 'Concentrate on this,' he said, pointing to the design on the ground. 'You're one of the best alchemical theorists in the army right now, and I need to know exactly what happened here. You're the only person I trust enough to give me a straight answer.'

For a moment, they both stood looking at each other, and Ed could sense the heaviness of everything unsaid that lingered in the air. Last night seemed like a lifetime ago, but there was nothing they could do or say here, surrounded by what felt like the entire army, to bring back the closeness he and Roy had shared. The distance between them was only a few feet, but it was almost oppressive, and Ed could see the faintest glimmer of his own worry and disappointment mirrored in Roy's expression.

'Sir!' Fuery called out, his voice carrying across the rubble. 'There's something here you need to see!'

'Go,' Ed muttered. 'You can't stand there and watch me work, anyway. Not without people asking questions.'

Roy gave a reluctant nod, and Ed saw his fingers twitch before he pushed his hands in his pockets and turned away. 'Be careful, Ed,' he said over his shoulder.

'You too.'

Silently, Ed hunkered down next to the scribbled picture on the ground, watching Mustang pick his way over the debris before he finally turned his full attention to the job at hand.

Somewhere amidst all this ash there was the answer. Now all he had to do was find it.  



	15. Chapter 15

Roy sank onto the sofa in his office, groaning in relief as the soft cushions cradled his body. Firelight glimmered over the room as the subdued flames stirred in the grate, so different from the blaze that had roared through Central Command earlier. It was comforting, rather than terrifying, and gentle warmth ghosted over his face as he bathed in the glow.

He felt tired to the bone, sapped from hours of struggling over rubble in search of answers. They had all worked like dogs in an effort to clear up the mess left by the explosions, and Roy felt as if he had been walking a high-wire of tension ever since the first blast went off.

There hadn't only been the concern that, any moment, another collapse could wipe his life away. Throughout the day, his fears that someone would ask Ed to transmute had lingered. It had been pure luck that Ed's secret had not been uncovered earlier in the day. If that array that Hakuro had ordered him to activate had been even remotely stable... .

He shook the thought away. There was no point in dwelling on what might have happened. Much to Roy's surprise, Ed had done a fantastic job of keeping his head down and looking as if he was too busy to be interrupted, and the other officers had left him alone to carry out his orders. Of course, it helped that there were other alchemists around to help out. Perhaps they were not as fluent or practiced as Ed, but they got the job done.

It had only been as the moon began to rise that the structural engineers pronounced what was left of the building safe enough to occupy. Finally, the weary soldiers could find some shelter and respite within the remains of Headquarters.

Only the sentries were left outside, guarding the perimeter with watchful eyes and challenging anyone, military or not, who wanted access to the base. Patrols also roamed the corridors, watching for anything unusual. It seemed that no one was willing to take any chances tonight, and security had been tightened to breaking point.

Roy knew he should get some sleep, but he suspected that his ranking peers would probably have already claimed the officer's suites, and he had no wish to spend the night in a narrow bunk on a paper-thin mattress. The couch was comfortable enough. Hell, even the floor was better than the ramshackle things the military called “beds”.

A tap on the door made him look up. It was too quiet and polite to be Ed, and he thought everyone else had gone to get some rest. Cautiously, he lifted his hand, ready to snap his fingers at the sight of an unfamiliar face as he called out, 'Come in.'

Hawkeye nudged her way around the door, shouldering it aside as she concentrated on not spilling any coffee from the mug in her hand. The scent hit Roy like a battering ram, and he almost moaned out loud in gratitude.

'Thank you,' he said earnestly, taking the drink from her and sipping it, not caring if he burned his tongue.

'Don't thank me, sir, it was Edward's idea.' Riza gave a small smile when he looked up, and there was a knowledgeable glow to her gaze. 'He said you would need it after performing so much alchemy today.'

Roy hummed a non-committal noise, hiding his small smile of pleasure behind the cup. He should have known that, even in the first tentative, uncertain days of a relationship, Ed would pour his all into it, would switch his focus and adjust his routine and actually think of the other person who had come into his life. 'Where is Fullmetal, anyway?' he asked, gesturing for Hawkeye to take a seat.

Placing the blankets that were draped over her arm on the sofa, she perched neatly on the edge of the chair. Her back was straight as she folded her hands in her lap, as professional as always. 'He's still picking over that array, as well as the others that we found. I think he knows what happened – he's just looking for the evidence. Major Armstrong is with him,' she added, reading Roy's concerns before he even found the words to voice them. 'I made sure he wasn't left on his own.'

Watching her through the steam rising from his mug, Roy noticed that her normally professional demeanour was marred by faint lines of concern. Her courteous smiles never quite reached her eyes, and there was a permanent cinch in her brow, as if she were puzzled by something. 'What is it, Lieutenant?' he asked quietly, taking another sip as she jerked her head upwards, meeting his eye with a rueful expression.

She hesitated before asking, 'Has the room been checked for new listening devices since the building was evacuated, sir?'

Roy nodded. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, but Fuery had swept the office before retiring to bed. 'It's still safe to talk here as long as you don't lift your voice too high.'

It was obvious that Hawkeye chose her words with care as she said, 'It's about Edward, sir. When he was arguing with General Clarke, the temperature began to drop. I thought it was unusual; there were no clouds over the sun, but it became noticeably colder.'

He frowned, wondering where Riza was going with this. 'The weather can be unpredictable, sometimes. A cold snap isn't unheard of, even in the city.'

'That's what I thought at first,' Hawkeye explained, 'but then I noticed that the ice on the ground around Edward's boots formed within seconds, and it spread out from that point. It seemed unusual.' She swept a loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she gave a graceful shrug. 'Perhaps it was nothing, but –'

'But it could be important,' Roy finished for her, nodding his head in understanding. At the time, he had written off the chill in the air as insignificant, but perhaps it had not been as straight-forward as he first believed. His tired mind was too sluggish to battle through the possibilities, and he huffed out a sigh of frustration as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. 'I'll keep an eye on Ed,' he promised. 'Perhaps it was a coincidence that the soil around his boots froze before anything else, but you're right to mention it.'

Hawkeye inclined her head before getting to her feet and turning towards the door. 'I'll be in the dormitories if you need me, sir,' she said quietly. 'Perhaps you should think about getting some sleep, too? I doubt that tomorrow will be an easy day, and we'll need you at your best.'

Roy nodded in mute agreement, watching Riza slip out of the door and listening to her footsteps recede. She was right, of course. Tomorrow would probably be a mess of urgent meetings and barked demands, but right now he couldn't bring himself to curl up and sleep. His body might be willing, but his mind, as dense as it felt, was still ticking over the events of the day, and he knew it would keep him awake for a while yet.

Steadily, he drank his way through his coffee, and it wasn't until he was almost at the bottom of the cup that he heard someone enter the outer office. Whoever it was didn't bother to keep the noise down, and Roy heard the clatter of something being dragged off of a shelf before the door was kicked inwards and hooked shut again. The lock clicked into place, and Roy raised his eyebrows as he took in Ed's appearance.

He looked how Roy felt. Dark shadows rested beneath his eyes, and the glow of his skin was muted by masonry dust. His hair was dull with dirt, and every movement was as stiff as when he'd had the automail. Yet the sight of him still made Roy's heart leap, and the plate full of steaming hot food balanced in Ed's right hand only added to his appreciation.

'Eat that,' Ed ordered, handing him the meal unceremoniously before flumping down onto the sofa next to him and dropping the office first aid kit on the coffee table. He groaned out loud with obvious relief as he leaned back into the soft cushions and shut his eyes. 'Should have been the first thing you did after putting out the fire, idiot. You looked like you were going to collapse all afternoon.'

It was a surprisingly gentle reprimand, despite the insults, and Roy didn't need telling twice. Alchemy used in small doses was fine, but constant transmutations were enough to wear down even the most seasoned of practitioners. He'd been so busy dealing with the political and logistical implications of the explosions that he hadn't thought much of his own welfare. Now, when the time came to rest, his body was making its disapproval known.

'Thank you,' he said with a smile, grabbing the cutlery and tucking in. 'Where did you get food at this time of night?'

'General Heath ordered the canteen workers back in to get some food going. No one's going to do a good job on an empty stomach, whatever their rank,' Ed replied, dragging his eyes open again and treating Roy to a critical look. 'Besides, someone's got to take care of you. You can't live on coffee.'

Roy almost pointed out the irony of Ed, the master of self-neglect, telling him to look out for himself, but decided against it. Despite the calm in his voice and his placid expression, there was something faintly ragged about Ed tonight. He seemed tense, and the warm lamp light didn't do anything to soften the thoughtful frown that marred his brow.

'Are you all right?' Roy asked, draining his mug and putting it on the table before spearing a potato with his fork.

Ed grunted, dragging his head upright and giving Roy a crooked almost-smile. 'Just feels like today's gone on for fucking-ever and, I don't know, maybe it's all this anti-alchemy shit, but everyone's really on edge.'

'That's not surprising. Whether it was an alchemist or not, whoever blew up the guard house and the West Wing was probably working from the inside,' Roy explained, his voice low and grim. 'No one can really be trusted. During an emergency, people pull together, but once the dust has cleared all anyone cares about is placing the blame.'

With a shrug, Ed leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling as he stared into the fire. 'Doesn't matter what everyone thinks, those arrays didn't do it. I found chemicals all over the place: magnesium for the light, as well as some salty stuff. Colonel Bellamy said it looked like potassium bromide.'

Roy raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'No wonder it brought the whole wall down. Mind you, most people on the street wouldn't know where to get stuff like that. Someone knew what they were doing, and alchemists do know their chemistry... '

'I said the arrays didn't do it. I never said it wasn't an alchemist,' Ed pointed out, looking down at his hands. Roy followed his gaze and noticed, for the first time, a grubby bandage wrapped around Ed's left palm. It looked like a strip off of someone's shirt, now tattered and smeared with grime, and a prickle of something hot and fierce shot down Roy's spine.

Putting aside his plate, he reached for Ed's wrist, circling his fingers loosely over warm skin and pulling him closer. 'What happened?' he demanded. 'You didn't tell me you were hurt.'

Ed gave a dismissive snort, but he didn't pull away. 'Stuck my hand in a bit of rubble and got cut by glass. It's all over the place.' He paused, as if a thought had just struck him, and Roy watched him look up at the windows. This far from the blast they were still intact, and Roy could almost see the wheels turning in Ed's head.

He seemed to realise he was being watched, and he gave a sheepish grin as he said, 'Armstrong and I were arguing about how someone could ignite the chemicals without getting blown up themselves. Alex thought they might have sacrificed themselves, but what's the point of that?'

'People do it,' Roy said quietly, pulling at the end of the bandage and starting to unwind it. 'Did you have a better idea?'

'I do now.' Ed rubbed his eye with his free hand, barely paying any attention to what Roy was doing as he explained. 'They threw bottles from a distance. That's how they were able to keep the chemicals separate until they wanted an explosion. They probably left the potassium on the ground covered in oil to keep the air off of it, and then threw a vial of liquid bromine. They would have been far enough away to survive, and in the chaos, one more soldier in uniform's not exactly going to stand out, is he?'

Roy sighed. He wished he could say that military security was too good to let someone do such a thing, but who was going to notice anyone spilling a few bits of dirt on the ground and hurrying away. The designs themselves had been hasty sketches – a few seconds' work – and they had achieved their aim. People believed alchemists were responsible, even when presented with evidence to the contrary.

'Fuery dug up the remains of some fuse wire and a relay detonator by the West Wing.' Roy grimaced, shaking his head. 'The arrays were mostly just for show. They caused a distraction and blew up the guard house while some standard explosives did the rest. I've had Havoc and Breda searching the perimeter for any clues about who might have done it, but they didn't find anything.'

He bowed his head, concentrating on Ed's palm as he peeled the bandage away, revealing a deep, angry cut. He hissed in sympathy, tipping it towards the light as he murmured, 'Ed, you could have at least cleaned this.'

A non-committal noise escaped Ed's throat. 'Didn't really have time. Besides, you can't talk. You've been sitting here for almost an hour and you've not bothered to do anything about this yet.' He reached out with his good hand, pressing against a jagged tear in Roy's uniform jacket. The pressure was gentle, but it was enough to send sparks of pain down Roy's arm, and he looked down in surprise.

The blue cloth of his jacket was stained darker at its ripped edges and, now that it had been brought to his attention, his arm was resonating with a sulky sting. 'I didn't even notice. It can't be that bad.'

'Worse than this,' Ed grumbled, gesturing with his injured hand and making an irritated noise when Roy reached for the first aid kit. 'Mustang, I can look after myself. You deal with your arm.'

With a shake of his head, Roy pulled out some cotton wool, soaking it through with antiseptic before meeting Ed's eyes. 'I've seen how you take care of your injuries. Slapping a bandage on it and ignoring it won't help.' He softened his voice, watching the annoyance in Ed's expression change to something more gentle. 'Besides, my arm's too awkward to treat myself.' With a crooked grin, he tipped his head to the side, his body language unconsciously shifting to something more open and relaxed as he said, 'Equivalent exchange?'

Ed hesitated a moment, and Roy could almost see the snarl of his independence behind his eyes. Yet the only sound that passed his lips was a faint sigh – of annoyance or something else Roy wasn't sure – before he held out his hand in acceptance.

'You don't have to do this,' Ed murmured quietly as Roy bent over his task, swiping away the dirt and grit that dappled Ed's torn skin. 'I got the first-aid kit for you. I'm fine.' He flexed his fingers in emphasis, wincing as a fresh line of blood welled upwards.

Roy gave him a steady look, sweeping his thumb back and forth across Ed's wrist in absent-minded comfort as he reached for a clean dressing and bandage. 'You always say that,' he replied, nudging Ed's fingers flat before binding the wound and pinning the cloth strip in place. It was startlingly white against Ed's skin, and Roy barely resisted the urge to bend his head and brush a kiss to Ed's palm.

He ached with the desire to tug Ed into his arms, to hold him close and sheltered against his chest, but he wasn't sure that Ed's response would be favourable. Last night they had reached a tentative understanding, and the boundaries between them had shifted. However, Roy was still aware of how easy it would be to cross some invisible line and push Ed away with his actions. He had to take this slowly, had to take his cues from Ed, because this was uncharted territory. He did not dare apply the normal rules of his previous relationships to what he had with Ed, not when he knew just how unpredictable the younger man could be.

'Take of your shirt, then.'

Roy blinked, and nothing in the world could have stopped the suggestive smirk that curved his lips.

Ed blew out a breath when he saw Roy's expression, but the faint flush on his cheeks gave him away, and the answering smile that curved his lips was faintly wicked. 'The cut's too high for me to get to if you just roll up your sleeve, unless you've suddenly gone shy?'

Briefly, Roy recalled Hughes' gentle warning about discretion. What would anyone think if they walked in to see Roy without his shirt on and Ed tending the wound on his arm? They _might_ believe it was innocent, but Roy doubted it somehow. Perhaps if the crackle of attraction hadn't edged the air, it would be easier to brush off any accusations, but Roy's heart had already begun to race at the simple thought of Ed touching his bare skin, and he didn't miss the fact that Ed kept wetting his lips and that gold eyes had darkened in the firelight.

Then, as if Ed had plucked Roy's fear right from his mind he added in a low, quiet hush, 'I locked the door for a reason, Mustang. At least let me check that you're all right,' Ed looked fierce, but there was a glimmer of genuine concern in his eyes, and Roy couldn't argue with that. His fingers moved down the buttons of his jacket and shirt before he shrugged them off, wincing as the fabric caught on dried blood.

Pleasure coiled through Roy's body as he noticed the admiration in Ed's gaze. Other lovers had responded to his physique with lust and hunger, but Ed's gaze seemed to dip beneath the surface of his skin. He looked as if he appreciated not only the end result, but the physical activity that went in to keeping his body in shape.

'If you're going to keep looking at me like that, I'll have to demand that you take some clothes off too, Ed.' It was a risk, playing this kind of game. Ed could just as well recoil as he could reciprocate, but Roy wasn't disappointed as Ed blinked himself awake and smirked in return.

'Not here,' he reminded Roy. There was a definite edge of promise to his voice that made Roy's spine go tight as he added, 'Maybe later, though.' The blush on his cheeks seemed to intensify, but he wore it like a medal as he nudged at Roy's arm to turn it towards the light and lightly swept the antiseptic-coated cotton wool along the wound. 'Shit, Mustang, what a mess,' he muttered, the flirtation fading somewhat as he became serious. 'What happened?'

'I honestly don't remember,' Roy replied, clearing his throat and wincing as the antiseptic bit into the wound. 'It was probably shrapnel from the second blast, but –' He shrugged and winced again as another stab of pain shot down his arm. 'Is it really that bad?'

'Could have done with stitches, and it'll probably scar.' Ed's eyes flickered to the unmarked expanse of Roy's chest at that, and Roy watched him out of the corner of his eye, feeling ridiculously pleased that Ed seemed to have trouble keeping his mind on what he was doing. Not that he was doing much better. Ed's touch was butterfly soft as he traced his finger parallel to the line of the cut, and Roy could feel his nearby heat with every inch of his skin.

The amber firelight did incredible things to Ed's profile, and Roy tried desperately not to stare. Ed reached out for a clean dressing pad and bandage, and his ponytail slipped forward, highlighting the strong line of his neck and the rapid flicker of his pulse in the hollow of his jaw. The sight was enough to make Roy's lips burn with the urge to bend forward and place a kiss there, to scrape teeth over that sensitive point and taste the salt of Ed's skin.

Ed was concentrating on wrapping clean white lines of bandage around Roy's arm and didn't seem to realise that he was the focus of Roy's rapturous attention. Still, over the crackle of the fire, Roy could hear the too-quick whisper of Ed's breaths and see the dilation of his pupils. They were both hyper-aware of each other, and when Ed tucked in the end of the bandage and looked up, the undeniable heat in his eyes jolted through Roy's body.

One kiss, Roy told himself, just one... .

Tucking a strand of Ed's hair back, Roy cupped his jaw, tilting his head ever-so-slightly so that he could cover Ed's mouth with his own. He tried to keep it gentle, but the desire thrumming through him had other ideas, and Ed gave a husky, quiet moan as he parted his lips to let Roy taste him.

Ed's fingers wrapped around Roy's wrist before stroking up his forearm, and it was like being touched by a live wire. The heat raced along Roy's nerves, and he scraped his teeth over Ed's bottom lip in appreciation.

Some faint warning trilled in the back of his mind. Ed cleaning up his arm was one thing, but if someone walked in now no amount of quick talking would dispute what they were doing. However, it was soon drowned out by the deeper, lower murmur that resonated through his mind and sent heat to pool between his legs.

_The door's locked. You can do_ anything _and no one will ever know._

Roy trembled, slipping his hand beneath Ed's jacket and stroking at the neat, cotton-clad line of his waist. It only took one nudge of encouragement, and Ed shifted, no longer sitting at Roy's side with one leg tucked under him but kneeling over his lap in a way that almost made Roy's eyes roll back in his head with want.

Warm fingers rubbed across the nape of Roy's neck and caught in his hair, holding him in place. He could feel the hard press of Ed's erection against him, and the material of his jacket was rubbing intrusively against Roy's chest. Like this, Ed had the height advantage, and his hair whispered past Roy's cheek as he leaned his head back and let Ed kiss him like it was what he had been born to do.

Slowly, he moved his hands to Ed's shoulders, tugging at the jacket's collar clumsily. What Ed was doing with his tongue and lips and teeth was short-circuiting Roy's brain and all he knew was that he wanted more than this. He needed to feel Ed's skin against his own.

Ed whimpered as he was forced to take his hands off of Roy to shuck the sleeves down his arms. Instantly, Roy grabbed the hem of his vest, peeling it off and wrapping his arms around Ed's warm, broad, naked back. In the grate, the flames grew stronger, dancing up the chimney and shading Ed's skin and hair to molten gold and bronze.

'Thought I told you I wasn't going to take any clothes off,' he groaned, putting his hands back on Roy's shoulders and stifling a needy noise as Roy arched up to lick along the line of his collarbone.

'Are you complaining?' Roy husked, making an approving noise as Ed tilted his head, exposing his throat to Roy's attentions. He bit gently at Ed's pulse, at least having the sense not to leave a mark as Ed's breath was caught in a hiss of pleasure. His skin tasted as addictive as Roy had always imagined, but the small part of his mind that was still vaguely aware was waiting for any sign of hesitation from Ed. If he got even a hint that this wasn't what he wanted, then Roy would stop in a second.

Yet Ed was beautifully willing, pressing his chest into Roy's like any distance was sacrilegious, and the slow, maddening shift of his hips in Roy's lap was steadily driving him wild. An artless grind sent sharp needles of desire shooting through his body, and a moan escaped his lips, strangely loud in the peace of the office.

A red light flickered in the corner of his vision, and Roy jerked his head to glare at the box on the table. It was Hughes' sound monitor. If his voice had ignited the little bulb, then any bugs within the room could have picked it up, and that thought was enough to pitch the cold water of realisation over Roy's mounting ardour. Ed might have locked the door, but there was no way to know what prying ears might be listening in.

Ed must have sensed the change in him, because he leaned back, gold eyes narrowed in confusion. 'What's wrong?' he asked roughly, the flush of want on his face darkening with uncertain embarrassment. 'Was it – did I do something you don't like?'

Roy shook his head furiously, reaching up to cup Ed's face in his hands so he could kiss him softly, tenderly, longingly. 'No, believe me, you were doing everything right. We just – we really can't do this here, no matter how much I wish we could.' He didn't need to fake the almost whine in his voice. His body was screaming at him, begging him to just forget who might overhear them, but he couldn't do that.

He drew in a breath as Ed turned his head, nipping at the tip of his thumb. It was an affectionate gesture, and something in him _squeezed_ at the thought of letting Ed go now. He was being watched with a steady, thoughtful gaze, and Ed glanced over his shoulder at the offending device on the coffee table, looking like he wanted to smash it apart for interrupting them with its warning. When he looked back, though, there was grudging acceptance in his eyes.

Ed's fingers curved over Roy's shoulders, holding him firmly as he said, 'If we were somewhere else, at your place or mine, would you have stopped?' His voice was shaking with tight need, and Ed's strong chest rose and fell with every ragged gasp of air.

'God, no,' Roy breathed. 'I don't want to stop now. I want _you_ , but... .'

'We can't,' Ed finished, closing his eyes in disbelief and letting out a heavy sigh that ghosted over Roy's skin.

'Believe me, if I could I'd take you home this minute, but the base is completely shut down. They're not letting anyone out tonight.'

He skimmed his hands up Ed's bare arms, noticing the goosebumps in response to the chilly air. Holding on to Ed's waist, Roy stretched over to snag the blankets from where Hawkeye had left them. They were thin, military issue things, but they were better than nothing, and Roy wrapped one around Ed's shoulders before nudging him down to stretch out on the sofa with him.

Roy's entire body was humming with tension, sensitive to the weight and warmth of Ed next to him. Logic worked like flicking a switch – a decision was made and that was that, but passion had little to do with the conscious mind, and it could not be turned off so easily. Every breath still felt too hot, and lying next to Ed and not being able to have him was possibly the most exquisite kind of torture, yet Roy couldn't bring himself to let Ed go.

'I should probably be getting to the dorms,' Ed pointed out, but he didn't make any move to leave, and Roy held him close as the keening edge of desire slowly dulled into something more manageable. Gently, he smoothed his hands back and forth across Ed's back, feeling the tension ebb out of the younger man's frame.

Perhaps he couldn't give Ed satisfaction tonight, but maybe he could soothe the frayed edges of Ed's mood and help him relax. Of course, Ed would never ask for his help but, luckily, Roy didn't have a problem with putting his own pride on the line.

'Stay?' he asked quietly, nuzzling at Ed's temple. 'Please? I don't want to let you go right now.'

Ed glanced up at him, suspicion and concern warring for control over his expression. Roy knew that Ed was well-aware of most of his tricks by now, but if he caught onto what Roy was doing then he didn't say a word. Instead, he looked towards the door. 'I don't think being found curled up together will be much better than someone catching us in the act, do you?'

Roy grunted, clambering out of the blankets as Ed watched him in confusion. He walked over to his desk and pulled a beaten and slightly singed alarm clock from the drawer. 'I don't like being woken up by the sound of Hawkeye cocking her gun by my ear,' he explained, winding up the device and checking his pocket watch before setting the hands to the right time. 'I end up sleeping on the couch in here more often than I'd like. If I set it to wake us up before anyone else gets into the office, will you stay here?'

Ed's face was briefly pinched with indecision, as though his head and heart were at war. Finally, with one more glance towards the door, he nodded. 'There probably aren't any beds left in the dorms anyway,' he replied, but his smile suggested that, either way, he'd still rather share the couch with Roy than go and hunt down an empty bunk.

There was a double “thunk” as Ed kicked off his boots and held up the blankets invitingly, and it didn't take Roy more than a minute to lose his shoes and climb in next to him. He was still shirtless, and a shiver of delight rippled through him as Ed curved an arm around his waist, pulling him closer and nestling into the curve of Roy's throat. They fell into a comfortable position easily, as if they had slept together every night for their whole lives, and Roy breathed in the scent of Ed's shampoo and tried not to drown in the warm, fierce tide of his emotions.

Ed's finger traced the line of skin and cloth at the boundary of Roy's bandage, and his voice was far softer than Roy was used to as he said, 'I'm glad you're all right.'

'Why wouldn't I be?' Roy asked.

An undignified snort made him glance down at Ed, who was giving him a disbelieving look. 'I dunno, Mustang. Maybe you could have been blown up or squashed flat by half the building falling on you, or maybe it's because you looked like shit when I got back from taking care of Foster.' He paused then, and Roy knew that he was thinking about the soldier who had died in the jail. 'It's just all so fucked up.'

'The explosions?' He stroked his thumb over Ed's back, listening to the gust of Ed's tired sigh.

'That and all the other stuff. People thinking the alchemists did it, Foster, that stupid code –' His hand curled into a fist, and his next words were barely more than a whisper. '– The fact that I should have been able to help today, and all I could do was keep my head down and stay out of the way. Fuckin' useless.'

Roy pulled back, hooking a finger under Ed's chin and meeting his eyes. 'You're not useless,' he said firmly, frowning when Ed pulled a face in response. 'You're not. Do you honestly think anyone else would have noticed the chemicals on the arrays, or that they would have worked out how the bombers got the results they wanted?'

He let Ed tug himself free and nestle down again, and Roy rested his chin on top of Ed's head as he repeated, 'You're not useless, Ed. No one with your intelligence can be described like that, alchemist or not.' He closed his eyes, wishing he could find the perfect words to make Ed believe what he was saying, but none came to mind. 'You'll break the code, I know you will. I'm just sorry I haven't been able to help you.'

Ed shrugged, the blankets whispering around him as he shifted position. 'You have helped,' he pointed out, glancing up and rolling his eyes when he saw the frown on Roy's face. 'You made sure I could talk to Foster when I needed to, and you've kept the military off my back.'

He lifted his hand, rubbing a fingertip down from the centre of Roy's brow to the tip of his nose. 'Now stop worrying and go to sleep. All this shit'll still be here for us to deal with in the morning. And you'd better not snore.'

With a weary, crooked smile, Roy did as he was told, closing his eyes and forcing his body to relax. He meant to stay awake, meant to check that Ed followed his own advice and surrendered himself to whatever his dreams might hold, but it did not happen. He was too heavy with tiredness, soothed towards peace by the warm presence next to him. He felt safe, shielded from the chaos beyond the walls and sheltered in Ed's unflinching embrace.

Slowly, the sounds of the room grew more distant until, at last, darkness claimed him.

* * *

Small noises penetrated Roy's dreams – the rustle of cloth, softly padding feet – but they were not enough to drag him back into the light of day. Instead, sleep left him gently, washing back and forth over him in waves until, at last, he opened his eyes to weak, frosty sunlight spilling across the back of the sofa.

Ed should have been next to him, but Roy's arms were empty and the blankets were folded around him like a cocoon, trapping warm air next to his bare chest. A rash of disappointment prickled through him. Falling asleep in Ed's company had felt so right that waking up to find him gone was difficult to fathom. Ed should be there but, to anyone who didn't know better, it looked like Roy had slept alone. There was no sign that Ed's presence had been anything but a dream.

A glint of something caught Roy's eye, and he smiled to himself as he realised that he was wrong. A long, gold hair rested on the blankets, shining like spun metal: a precious testimony to the truth.

Turning over, Roy's gaze fell on the alarm clock. The lever to stop the hammer from hitting the bells had been flicked so that it wouldn't go off, and the hands told him that he'd slept for longer than he'd intended. There were already faint sounds of groggy life from the outer office, and Roy groaned to himself as he realised that it was probably time to start the day.

As he struggled into a sitting position, he noticed the steaming mug of coffee at the other end of the table. It couldn't have been there long, and Roy would bet anything that Ed had left it for him. Perhaps it wasn't breakfast but, to Roy, it was exactly what he needed to kick-start his tired brain.

By the time Hawkeye tapped politely on the door, Roy had his shirt and shoes back on and was halfway through the mug. She smiled at him with something like approval as she said, 'There's a clean uniform for you in the officers' bathroom, sir, and you have a meeting with the Fuhrer in forty-five minutes.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you seen Fullmetal this morning?'

Hawkeye grabbed the blankets, folding them with quick, neat flicks of her fingers as she nodded her head. 'He was in the office about ten minutes ago, telephoning Alphonse to let him know that everything was all right. Judging from the amount of apologising on Edward's part, I assume that he forgot to call home last night.'

Roy winced. He should have thought to remind Ed of that, but, even now, the city beyond the crumpled walls of Headquarters seemed like another world. 'Anything else?'

'Only that, from what I understand, Miss Rockbell's train comes in this morning. Edward seemed somewhat relieved that it would fall to Al to pick her up from the station, since he is stuck here.' There was a faint smile on Hawkeye's lips, but it faded away quickly. 'Unfortunately, I don't know when any of us will be free to leave Central Command.' Her voice dropped, and Roy followed her gaze to the small box on the table and its dull little light. 'There's a lot of unrest, sir, even among the soldiers who work with alchemists every day.'

'What about in this office?' Roy asked, not taking his eyes off of her face as he waited for an answer.

'We have more sense than that, sir. Unlike everyone else, we see both you and Edward in action on a regular basis.' She lifted her chin, speaking with a measure of intelligent pride. 'We know exactly what you and Fullmetal are capable of, as well as what lines neither of you will cross. Our trust in both of you hasn't faltered, sir, and nor has our loyalty.'

He hadn't known he'd needed that reassurance until the words left Hawkeye's lips. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. I'd best take a shower. The sooner I meet with the Fuhrer, the sooner we can start getting some answers.'

Draining the coffee mug, Roy set it down on the table and turned to go, only hesitating when Hawkeye added, 'Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes also told me to inform you that Clarke will be relocating Foster this morning. He doesn't yet know where they're taking him, but he promised to try and find out.'

'If anyone can dig out that bit of information, it's Hughes.' Roy sighed, well-aware that his friend's interest in this had taken on a personal edge. That always happened when men under your command were killed. The need to apportion blame and find understanding for the loss of life could become overpowering, and he had seen the pain in Maes' eyes yesterday. 'Keep me informed, Lieutenant.'

He bid a quick “good morning” to the rest of his men, who were all sitting at their desks and trying to find the necessary energy to function. They each gave him a salute, some more precise than others, and a quick glance was enough to tell Roy that his fears had been misplaced. They looked to him with nothing but trust, and he had been a fool to think otherwise.

There was no sign of Ed as Roy stepped out into the halls, but it would have been easy to miss him in the milling crowd. Soldiers clogged the corridor, talking to one another in tense huddles or hurrying about their duties.

Roy barely spared them a glance before turning away and catching the eggs-and-bacon scent of breakfast that lingered in the air. His stomach growled furiously, but a meal would have to wait. The Fuhrer wouldn't care if Roy's hunger was sated, but he would raise a fuss if a Brigadier-General's appearance was anything other than immaculate.

The officers bathroom was a secluded little room of white tiles and bright mirrors, and Roy locked the door behind him before heading for the shower, stripping as he went. There was no time to linger under the steamy spray, and he gave himself a brief soap down, carefully avoiding getting the bandage around his arm wet.

Flicking off the taps, he slung a towel around his waist and picked up the disposable razor that Hawkeye had left by the sink. It was a matter of a few minutes' careful work to remove the shadow of stubble from his jaw and, by the time Roy brushed his teeth, he felt almost human again.

Water droplets were chased away with every swipe of the thick, fluffy towel, and he pulled on the clean uniform without giving it a second thought. Even in less-than-familiar surroundings, his morning routine was so deeply engraved in his mind that it happened automatically. Before he knew it, he was dressed and ready to face whatever the day had in store.

Tidying away towels and throwing his dusty clothes into the laundry, Roy reached into his pocket for his spare gloves. He had just pulled them on when he opened the bathroom door to find Hughes leaning against the wall.

'What, no singing in the shower?' Maes asked, but the cheer in his voice was glassy, and the deep shadows under his eyes spoke for themselves.

'There's not much to sing about,' Roy said with quiet sympathy. 'Did you sleep at all?'

Hughes lifted a hand in a vague gesture before letting it fall back to his side. 'Between informing Leroy's parents that their only son had been killed in some stupid incident and trying to work out where Clarke was taking Foster?' He shook his head. 'I might have shut my eyes for a few minutes, I don't know.'

Roy sighed, resting his hand on his best friend's shoulder and steering him gently along the corridor. 'Let's get you some food and coffee. You know you need something, even if it's just a bit of toast.'

Hughes walked at his side, meek and vacant, and Roy could remember a time when this was the other way around. Once, it had been Maes who took his arm and dragged him through the world that made no sense after Ishbal. Of course, he had probably been deeper in his despair, but everyone, or at least everyone worth knowing, felt the death of someone in their command, and Maes was no different.

As they walked into the canteen, Roy saw a familiar figure. Ed was sitting at one of the tables, a sheaf of paper in front of him and an empty plate pushed to one side. A cup of coffee sat by his gloved right hand, and he was wriggling a pen thoughtfully back and forth in his left. His damp hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and Roy realised that Ed must have grabbed a quick shower while he had the chance.

He glanced up when Roy planted Hughes in the seat opposite, and the tiniest, secretive smile curved one corner of his mouth before he said, 'Better hurry up. This lot are like vultures. There won't be anything left soon enough.'

'Hmm, and I expect you ate more than your fair share.'

Ed casually flipped him off, and Roy smothered a grin as he turned away to hunt down something that resembled breakfast. The canteen was crammed with people seeking out some form of sustenance, and Roy waited impatiently in the queue as the sea of undefined chatter rose and fell around him.

It took several minutes to charm the cooks into frying up some fresh bacon and, by the time he got back to the table, Hughes and Ed were talking quietly. Maes still looked tired, but the deadness had ebbed from his expression, and he was listening intently to whatever Ed was saying.

Roy put one of the plates he was carrying down in front of his friend, handing over some cutlery and taking a seat before tucking into his own breakfast. By his estimations, he had fifteen minutes before he had to leave for the Fuhrer's office, and he was damned if he was going to endure an endless meeting on an empty stomach.

'Can't you put a tail on the convoy?' Ed was asking. 'It shouldn't be that hard to follow Clarke to wherever he's hiding Foster.'

'Not with the lock-down on Headquarters in place. It will be impossible to get any kind of authorisation. I just don't have the rank.' Hughes sighed. 'Even if I could, Clarke has some clever people working for him. They'll use decoys and such. I've pulled every string I can think of, and no one has a definitive answer about where Foster's being taken.'

Ed tapped his pen on the paper in front of him, and Roy realised that they were copies of the dud arrays that had been painted at the explosion site yesterday. There were notes all around them, written in a code he couldn't decipher from just a glance. However, he did notice the fainter lines sketched into the designs: Ed had been correcting them, seeing what it would take to make them into workable arrays. Just because he couldn't transmute, it didn't mean Ed's understanding had dimmed even a fraction.

'Are any of Clarke's “clever people” in here?' Ed asked, and there was something about the way he said it that made Roy pause.

He glanced around without moving his head, looking along the ranks of the tables. There was enough space to leave them in their own little patch of calm, and there was no one from Clarke's command among the serious faces that filled the room. Everyone was hunched together, talking at normal volume and creating a hubbub of sound that acted as the perfect shield for their conversation.

'No,' Hughes replied, glancing at Roy for confirmation.

When he nodded in agreement, Ed pulled a folded scrap of paper from his pocket and passed it over as casually as if it were a shopping list. 'Fell out of the fucker's pocket yesterday,' he said. 'It's probably nothing, but you might want to check it out.'

Roy looked over Maes' shoulder, taking in the information quickly. 'That's a residential address,' he pointed out quietly as Hughes slipped the note inside his breast pocket. 'You couldn't keep Foster contained in a place like that.'

'No, but I think I've seen it somewhere before, and recently,' Hughes said, spearing a bit of bacon and starting to eat with something like his usual appetite. 'I'll check it out and let you know.'

And, just like that, Ed had given Maes something to work with. It might not be much, but sometimes the tiniest scrap of a clue could be enough to take the edge off of all that helplessness, and Roy knew it was exactly what Hughes needed.

It was easy to let the approval and gratitude show on his face, and he knew that Ed picked up on it, because he gave a brief, bright, happy smile in response. In a room this crowded, it was all they could do to communicate on any level beyond the professional but, for now, it was enough.

'Did you find out anything new about those arrays?' Roy asked, jabbing his fork at the scribbled pages in front of Ed.

'Not really. Whoever drew them knows nothing about alchemy beyond the fact that arrays are circles. I could do better before I was two.' It was a statement of fact, rather than a boast, and Roy didn't doubt it for a moment. 'They didn't even stick with the same design, they just scribbled and ran. If you try and make them into working arrays you don't even get explosive reactions. They're too weak to do anything but change a few bits of sand into glass, if that. I don't think –'

Someone cleared their throat nervously, cutting Ed off mid-sentence, and Roy looked up to see Scieszka hovering nearby. She looked tired and rumpled, like almost everyone else on base, but the smile on her face was genuine as she held a book out to Ed triumphantly. 'This came into the office for you yesterday. I meant to hand it over, but then –' She shrugged, wordlessly indicating the carnage outside.

'Thanks, Scieszka. I'd almost forgotten all about it,' Ed took it from her and glanced at the cover, pulling a face as if he wasn't looking forward to working his way through the pages inside. 'I don't know how much good it'll do, but... .'

Roy glanced up as Ed trailed off, and he actually saw the supernova of realisation ignite in those vivid eyes. Ed had turned the book on its edge to check the spine, and now his gaze was fixed on something printed there. 'I'm such a fucking idiot.' Without another word, he got to his feet and hurried out of the room, no longer in this world but absorbed in whatever was going on inside his head.

'I – You're welcome!' Scieszka called after him, scratching the back of her head in bafflement. 'Was that a good thing?'

'Probably,' Roy replied, watching the young woman jump and belatedly realise she was meant to salute him. 'We'll find out soon enough.'

'In the meantime,' Hughes added, wiping his mouth and pushing his plate aside, 'we have work to do. Roy, I'll let you know what we find out, and remember, be on your best behaviour for the Fuhrer. I've heard that he is not a happy man. Come on, Scieszka.'

'But I have to –' She sighed as she realised her protests were useless, and Roy watched as Maes ushered her from the room, disappearing amidst the throng of soldiers and leaving him to finish his breakfast in peace.

He cleared his plate, listening to the rise and fall of conversation all around him. He could only catch fragments, but he didn't need to hear the words to know that the general atmosphere was tense and fearful. The military was used to seeing its enemies. Normally they knew where to point their guns and how to retaliate, but now they feared a snake in the grass, and every old loyalty was being called into question.

Roy stood up, tucking his hands in his pockets as he picked his way across the canteen and out into the corridor before making his way towards the Fuhrer's office. Every day this situation dragged on was another chance for the tension to escalate, and Roy was a good enough strategist to see where it could all end.

Distrust became protests, which formed into riots, and, on the flip of a coin, the balance of authority was lost and all that remained was anarchy. Roy narrowed his eyes as he took the steps towards the top of the tower two at a time. The actions taken now and in the coming days could be critical. He knew that, but did the Fuhrer? If not, then it was up to him to open Hakuro's eyes.

He just hoped that, for once, the Fuhrer would see the real threat that lay before him rather than turning his back on them all.


	16. Chapter 16

The scent of stale coffee and stress permeated the office, but Ed ignored it as his pen flew across the page, picking Acontius' code apart. He had been right; it was simple once you had the key. Acontius had left clues, and Ed had finally put the pieces together. Now it was as if the choking vice of stress and uselessness had fallen away. Whether he was getting answers or only more questions didn't matter: he was moving forward.

He had spent too long baffling over the books under Foster's floorboards, but now he could see their purpose. Each was a copy of an old text, older than Acontius' encoded work, and each bore the strange three-circle symbol on its spine. There were four books in all, and the numbers in Acontius code corresponded to a line within a page. Sometimes a pair of numbers would stand for a whole sentence, or just one word, and the colours of ink matched the colour of the different books' bindings, letting Ed know where to start.

'Took Foster a year or more,' Ed muttered to himself, smirking as he realised he'd cracked it in a matter of days. It was an old method of encryption, one that, back in Acontius' day, would not have been that easy to break. These books were from different towns and different times, only united under the fact that they were all printed by the same printing house. It was only because the military hoarded every text it could find that he and Foster had both been able to unlock Acontius' secrets.

Ed paused, cracking his knuckles briefly and flicking through the pages. Whatever was written here, Acontius had been desperate to hide it. Meaningful passages were interspersed with random tracts of text, also in code. The first time the subject had switched abruptly from Alchemy to the basic principles of Engineering, Ed had wondered if he had done something wrong, but now he saw those efforts for what they were: hurdles placed in the path of the curious. Acontius had done everything he could to make sure this knowledge did not get out into the general population, but he had still felt the need to pass on the message.

Around him, the busy sounds of Roy's staff rose and fell like a tide. Normally, they worked quietly, slogging through the paperwork that seemed to gravitate towards the desks, but the game had changed. Now everyone was coming and going, helping with the clean up and continuing the investigation into what had caused yesterday's explosion in the first place. Part of Ed wanted to help, but it had only been luck last time that stopped anyone discovering his lack of alchemy. No, it was better to be here. Anyone could shove rubble around and poke at the soil: this was something that only he could do, and for the first time in days Ed almost felt like his old self again.

Reaching out, he took a sip from his coffee, not noticing that the last dregs of the mug were still as hot as they had been the moment he had poured the drink. His mind was a mess of careening thoughts, and every new line he uncovered sent his theories spinning in a whole new direction. Acontius had spent his life focussing on the Gate, and now his truths were revealing themselves to Ed's eyes, shorn of the usual scientific explanations. They were simply thoughts on a page, not so much theories as human fears.

He kept reminding himself to keep decoding, rather than getting caught up in the latest unveiled statement. He needed the whole picture before he started drawing conclusions, no matter how tempting it was to lose himself in what was being revealed, but that did not stop the growing knot of uncertainty clenching in his stomach, nor the prickles of unease that worked their way up and down his spine.

Hours slipped past unnoticed, and by the time Ed reached the last pages, most of the code was irrelevancies. Acontius had made the book seem thicker than it was with random passages, and most of the last chapter was filler. Only the final paragraph had meaning, and Ed read through his own untidy hand several times before setting his pen down.

"Alchemy exists in all of us, but where some are permanently blocked from the power of the Gate, others stand upon the threshold, controlling it all with the soul of their beings. To remove one of these gifted from the source requires painful determination, and may for all its price and pain, be an exercise in futility. The Gate lives, and it chooses its own.

It will not give them up lightly."

Ed cuffed at his eye with the heel of his palm, trying to push away the heavy-headed haze that consumed his mind. Grabbing a different pen, he looked through all that he had done, ignoring the blister on his index finger beneath his glove from too much writing as he began to strike out the nonsense fragments. Words on dance, cookery and medicine were steadily removed, but he did not eradicate them completely. Perhaps Acontius had more purpose in their inclusion than filling up space, and Ed did not want to have to decode everything twice. A simple line was enough to extract them from the equation, and at last he settled down to view the whole picture that Acontius had steadily portrayed.

The clatter of a plate made him glance up, and he saw a thick white bread sandwich, stuffed with cold meat and salad perched on the desk. His stomach, silenced before by the whirl of his mind, growled its desire, and he grabbed it with a muffled thanks, not caring about the crumbs as he continued to read. Distantly, he heard Roy's chuckle, a soft, warm sound that eased some of the tension in Ed's shoulders, and he looked up just in time to see Roy enter his office.

All he caught was a glimpse of slumped, weary shoulders before the door closed again, and Ed scowled, wondering what had happened in that meeting with Hakuro. It was tempting to walk in there and demand that Roy tell him, but the thought made Ed wince. Just because their relationship was changing that did not mean he had any kind of right to Roy's full attention, especially here in the shadow of the military.

No, it was better to keep reading. As soon as he knew exactly what Acontius was getting at, he'd let Roy know. That was how it was supposed to work. He reported to his superior officer, not the other way around.

By the time the sandwich was nothing but crumbs and his next cup of coffee was a distant memory, Ed's transcription was covered in his own scrawled notes, and the foggy fears had begun to crystallise into genuine concerns, burdening his head with their weight. Not much was known about Acontius, but Ed could read between the lines. The man had spent his entire existence thinking of the Gate. It was never mentioned explicitly ,but Ed suspected that, like him, he had stood before that edifice for some reason or other. Yet as the coded message progressed the tones became less excited and hopeful, and more dreading.

The Gate was not a god, but with every sentence it sounded like a master to its slaves. All the time Acontius had been studying it, it sounded almost as if the doorway had been examining him in turn and weighing up his worthiness for the depths of its secrets.

It was easy to work out what Foster had seen in these texts: not the warning that screamed itself across Ed's mind loud and clear, but hope and joy. He saw a way to manipulate the Gate, and an alchemist's connection to it. Blinded to Acontius' other warnings, he had rushed ahead, stripping Ed's alchemy away with no true thought to the consequences.

Rolling his head on his shoulders, Ed stood up, stretching his arms above his head before closing the books, hiding gruesome images and clumsy arrays behind blank, boring covers. He stacked them neatly on the corner of Falman's desk, knowing the man appreciated tidiness, before grabbing his clumsy notes and walking stiffly towards Roy's door.

If Hawkeye had been around, he would have asked her if Roy was busy, but she was nowhere in sight. In fact, the office was completely empty, and only the sound of voices on the other side of the wood made him pause. He had not been paying attention to his surroundings, and the last thing any of them needed was more trouble from some stuck up general if Ed barged in uninvited.

Clenching his teeth, he banged his fist twice against the door, rolling his eyes at Mustang's wary call to enter. His feelings for Mustang might have come a long way since he was a kid, but the man was still a bastard, and Ed scowled at his look of surprise as he stepped into the room.

'I think that's the first time I've ever heard you knock,' Roy said with a smirk, which widened into a grin as Ed scowled.

'I thought I heard voices. Are you talking to yourself?'

'No, I'm here.' Hughes sounded exhausted, and it took Ed a moment to pick out the man's boots, sticking out over the arm of Roy's couch. He had collapsed on the cushions, and a quick glance over the back showed Ed that the man had one arm thrown over his eyes, his glasses dangling limply from his fingers. 'I came in more than an hour ago, but you were in another world. You probably wouldn't have noticed another bomb going off.' There was a touch of mirth in Hughes' voice, and Ed felt a fist of concern over the older man's welfare steadily loosen its grip.

'Please tell me you have had more success than the rest of us?' Roy asked, getting up from his desk and moving to the armchair. It was easy to see that Ed's earlier assumption had been right. Even now, Mustang looked stressed and defeated, like he was fighting a losing battle, and Ed had to push back the urge to reach out. Physical comfort was not possible right now, but at least he could tell Roy what he knew. Hopefully he would find as much solace in solid fact as Ed did, even if Acontius did not really tell them anything that they wanted to hear.

'The code was simple to break once I'd figured out the key. The numbers were referencing pages and lines of the books we found under Foster's floor, as well as the Alchemical theories that Acontius wrote when he was younger.' He rubbed at his neck, painfully aware that he had been slouched over the desk for far too long. 'I'm not sure if Foster decoded it all, but I'd say it was where he got the idea of stealing my alchemy.'

Ed's eyes darted to the sound device, but the bulb didn't flicker as he continued to speak. 'Acontius basically describes a kind of dam between people and the Gate. For some people, it's just a wall. They have no way of accessing the Gate so they're not alchemists. Others can control it, like flood gates, and use the power in alchemy.'

'So, you're saying I have floodgates and Hughes doesn't?' Roy asked, raising an eyebrow at the metaphor.

'And neither do I, or at least not any more. If I had to guess, I would say Foster somehow sealed up my way of reaching the Gate and opened it up in himself instead. So he has the channel he was born with, and mine as well.' Ed clenched his teeth for a moment, battling to control the surge of hatred he felt towards such a blatant invasion. 'I doubt it's just a floodgate in Foster any more. It's probably a massive hole.' Ed bit his lip, pitching the notes down on the coffee table. 'It's only an idea, but I know I saw the Gate in Foster's eyes. It's not because it's in him, exactly, but because Foster has no way to shut it out any more. It's like he's constantly connected.'

'And most alchemists aren't?' Hughes asked, slipping his glasses back on his nose as he propped himself up on one elbow, examining Ed with curious eyes.

'Think of it like turning on a tap,' Roy said. 'Alchemists control when and what they transmute. Arrays help with that, like flicking a switch.' He turned back to Ed, his dark blue eyes alight with consideration. 'Hawkeye said Foster seemed surprised by what he could do when they were giving chase. If what you're saying is right, then Foster was possibly already showing signs of losing control back then.'

'He smashed the library apart. At the time I thought he was just freaked out, but maybe he wasn't exactly in charge of what he was doing.' Ed shrugged, cuffing at his eye again before blinking down at his notes. 'Acontius doesn't say anything about how to undo it, at least not directly. There are hints that it's not as straightforward as you might think, but nothing obvious.'

The crackle of the fire punctuated the silence, but when Roy eventually spoke it was with the same, solid confidence Ed had grown used to over the years. 'Maybe now you know what Foster did, it will be easier to interpret the array he used? Before you were going in blind, but now at least you know the angle he was working from.'

Ed nodded, knowing that would be his next step. He had to take apart the pieces of Foster's puzzle and understand every facet before he could even try to undo this mess. Yet before, when there had been burning passion, there was reluctance. He wanted his alchemy back so much that it was like an ache in his chest, but Acontius' warnings still whispered in his ear: somehow deeper and more meaningful than the usual dangers of the Gate. He needed time to think before plunging on.

'Not today,' Ed murmured, deliberately ignoring Roy's look of surprise and the soft uncertainty that seemed to bleed out into the air. 'I need to read over this again and make sure I really understand it before tackling that design.' He looked up, trying not to wince at the tired lines that carved their way into Roy's face. 'What about you? Any luck with Hakuro?'

Roy's expression fell as he shook his head, cuffing a hand through his hair as he growled a response. 'He's been listening to Clarke, who has somehow convinced the Fuhrer that this is an isolated incident: an unfortunate event, but not the warning the rest of us can see.' He let out a sharp sigh, clenching his gloved hands into fists. 'I wish I knew what his game was. Yesterday it seemed like Clarke was desperate to fan this whole anti-alchemy thing higher. Now he's changed his tune.'

'Why does he hate alchemists so much?' Ed asked, looking from Roy to Hughes and back again as they both shrugged. 'If it was a political thing, he would be taking it to every council in the country. Instead all he's doing is muttering in Hakuro's ear. Why?'

'He wants it under military control,' Roy replied. 'If he took the issue up with the politicians, regulation would be in the people's hands. That's not what he's after.' His shoulders slumped, and he turned to look at the fire, the uncertain light casting his features into relief. 'I keep trying to unearth more about him — to find out why he's in such strong opposition to the alchemists — but there's nothing. He's had a clean, military career. A little undistinguished, but certainly not tarnished in any way. Hakuro made him a general once Bradley was gone.'

'I'll keep looking into it,' Hughes promised, struggling into a sitting position and rubbing at his temples. 'There is such a thing as being too clean. Everyone in the military makes mistakes, and we'll find out what his were.'

'What about that address that was in his pocket?' Ed asked, frowning when Hughes shook his head. 'No luck?'

'It was written in Foster's military file: his residential address when he took the state alchemist exam. The problem is, it was pulled down two years ago. The whole street was demolished as derelict. It's a park now.' Hughes scratched at his head, his next breath almost a groan. 'It doesn't make any sense.'

'None of it does,' Roy replied, getting to his feet and striding back towards his desk. 'Just keep trying. That's all we can do.'

Another knock at the door made them all look up in surprise, and Ed noticed Roy check his gloves briefly before calling out for the person to enter. The handle turned with a quick, efficient movement, and the door opened just wide enough to admit Colonel Bellamy. There was something neat about the man, as if he never did anything that might waste energy. His receding hairline cut a sharp widow's peak, but the brown eyes beneath his shaggy brow were sharp and alert.

'Sorry to intrude, sir, but I have discovered something that may be of interest to you about the labs. Something pertaining to the prisoner who was in your custody?' He made it a question, as if asking for permission to continue, and Roy hastily waved him towards the sofa and away from the ears of the listening devices.

'Have a seat, Colonel. Major Elric and Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes are both part of the investigation, but the office is bugged. It's only in this area that you won't be heard, but please keep your voice down.' Roy gave him a tight smile as Bellamy nodded his comprehension. 'You must know that the prisoner has been moved to Clarke's jurisdiction now. Have you reported your findings to him?'

'No, sir,' The colonel's reply was instant and unapologetic. 'General Clarke has ignored previous findings relating to the labs, and this is too important to become lost in the military machine. The toxin you found is unlike anything I've seen. Not a pathogen or a chemical poison, but a mind-altering drug.'

'Like the kind they sell on the streets?' Hughes asked, listening intently as Bellamy shook his head.

'It would be no use for achieving any kind of euphoric high. As far as we are able to tell, it interferes with the modulation process in the mind. In short, if someone was exposed to it, they would become obsessive.' Bellamy licked his lips as he tried to explain. 'Single ideas would be more likely to fix in their minds, and once that occurs, it's a vicious cycle. The individual loses the ability to distance themselves mentally from a given thought, and drives themselves into abnormal behaviours.'

Ed frowned, trying to make sense of what was being said. 'You're saying that if someone took some, they'd be under someone else's control?'

'No – well, not exactly. They would be open to suggestion, but only if it matched with their current obsession. Someone focussed on owning a diamond, for example, could be convinced to steal it, but anything else would fall on deaf ears.'

'Foster was exposed to some chemicals during an accident when he worked there. Could that explain his changed mental state?' Roy asked, reaching for a pen and paper and scribbling quick notes.

'A single exposure would not have a long term effect. He might struggle, for a few days, to exhibit normal human behaviour, and the spectrum of his thoughts would be seriously narrowed, but only low dose, repeat exposure would result in the single-mindedness that was mentioned in the reports.' The colonel shrugged. 'Of course, there may be some information I do not have clearance to read.'

Roy frowned, and Ed could see some of that heavy hearted despair giving away to the sharp intelligence that always sparked within Roy's skull. He could almost hear the cogs turning, and he was dimly aware of Hughes scribbling something in a notepad: no doubt another lead to chase.

'I think you know as much as we do, Colonel Bellamy,' Roy said at last. 'Tell me, have you contained all of the drug within compound?'

'All that was present in the lab since it's closure.' The colonel straightened up, smoothing his jacket before dropping his voice to little more than a murmur. 'According to the records, a small amount was removed from the laboratory before it was shut down. We don't know where it went, or who has it.'

'How small?' Ed asked, his stomach sinking as Bellamy shrugged. 'Enough for one person, or a hundred?'

'It depends how it's used. Enough to cause city-wide symptoms for a few days, or enough to repeatedly dose thirty or so people for a lifetime. Only tiny amounts of the toxin are needed to have an effect. It's most potent if inhaled or given intravenously, but even if it just touches the skin, it will still do it's job.'

'What's the point of creating something like that?' Hughes mused, almost to himself. His green eyes were unfocussed behind his glasses, and he was chewing thoughtfully on his pencil. 'Biological weapons normally aim to cause a maximum loss of life, but this? It seems almost more like a prank than anything else.'

Ed frowned, mulling over Bellamy's words, but it was Roy who spoke up. 'This probably isn't about killing anyone. It's about trying to steer events. If it was released at a time of high unrest, you could make people who were only dreaming of causing a riot actually step into action. That is, if it's really as effective as it seems. The only person we know of being exposed is Foster, and he is hardly an ideal test subject.'

'That is our main cause for concern, sir,' Bellamy replied. 'No drug can act as a silver bullet. They do not affect just one thing. We have no idea how this drug may influence other people or what side effects it may bring about.' He sighed. 'We have found no documentation on the test subjects, nor anything that indicates how it was created and how to counter-act it.'

With a quick nod, Roy got to his feet, speaking with quiet, precise words as he focussed on Bellamy. 'Officially, I cannot give you any orders. However, if you wished to proceed with your investigations, I would encourage you to focus on finding the missing biological agent, and trying to discover something to counteract it.'

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, and a thin smile curved his lips. 'Sound advice, General. I appreciate your input. Should you wish to view any reports on my findings, please stop by our office.'

Ed might not have always paid attention to Roy's machinations, but he knew what Mustang was doing. He'd been the victim himself enough times. Roy made people feel like they were the only ones who could give him the answers, and somehow they fell over themselves to provide. Bellamy was a smart man, one who stood on the sidelines and watched the political dealings of others. He was not quite as good as Mustang, but he knew that some things went beyond the black and white of jurisdiction and hierarchy.

With one final salute, Bellamy turned away, leaving Ed, Roy and Hughes to exchange meaningful glances as they turned over this new gem of information. To Ed, it felt like it was raining puzzle pieces, but there were no corners or edges – no starting places. All they could do was stare at each one in isolation and hope it gave them the answers they were searching for.

'What do you want us to do?' Hughes asked Roy. 'Is there anything you want me to focus on?'

'Finding an answer,' Roy grunted, giving a rueful smile before scratching at his eyebrow. 'Concentrate on working out where Clarke put Foster. I don't like not knowing where he is.'

Hughes struggled to his feet, making sure he had everything before turning towards the door. 'Will do, and Roy?' A quick grin flashed over his face. 'Don't worry about Hakuro. He might be Fuhrer, but there are plenty of sensible generals underneath him who know which way the wind is blowing. Many people would rather listen to your orders than his.'

He shut the door behind him, leaving Ed perched on the arm of the couch and Roy over by his desk. His back was to the room, and his eyes were focussed unseeingly out of the window. Ed had no idea what he was looking at, and he quietly got to his feet, walking over to Roy's side and wondering what he was allowed to do. The urge to reach out still brewed within him, strong and difficult to deny, but Ed knew that whatever they had was far from ordinary. In the end, he had to settle for nudging Roy's shoulder with his own, smiling as Roy blinked himself back to the present.

'Is it just Hakuro being a fuckin' idiot that's bothering you?' he asked. 'Or something else?'

Roy nudged him back, looking over at the closed door before reaching out and taking Ed's gloved hand in his. Even through the fabric, the heat shot up Ed's right arm, and the quick, reassuring grip of Roy's fingers was as good as any anchor in a storm. It was a brief movement, but it brought Ed the world of reassurance. There were boundaries about what they could do, but this much was allowed.

'It's everything,' Roy admitted in a whisper, rubbing at his temples as if a headache brewed there. 'It seems like something new comes to light every hour, and fitting them all together...' He shook his head, letting go of Ed's hand and turning to face him, his palms resting gently on Ed's shoulders as he looked intently at his face as if searching for a trace of a lie. 'What about you? I know you were hoping for more from that code.'

Ed shrugged, clenching his jaw before nodding his head. 'I was, but I'll work something out. Besides, this whole drug thing sounds like it's bigger than just me. You think someone plans to release it?'

'Perhaps. It's hard to be sure. It could simply have been lost, but if someone did take it, it's safe to say they've been holding onto it and waiting for their moment.' Roy's hands brushed lightly down Ed's arms, and swaying closer seemed like the natural thing to do. Something about Roy's warmth was enough to make him forget about the pressure of mystery that seemed to crush him from all sides. Being this close to Roy felt so natural, so essential, that Ed was beginning to wonder how he ever lived without it.

Roy's head rested on top of his, and he could feel the knots in the muscles of Roy's shoulders and neck melting away. It was not an overly sensual embrace, but it called to something deep in Ed's heart, filling a hole he had never known existed. He would have been happy to stay there all day, soothing Roy and being soothed in turn, but a shout from the parade ground below was enough to make them break apart, and Ed lifted an eyebrow as he saw the sentry gate open once more.

'Looks like Hakuro's decided to let people go,' he murmured, watching the sentries begin to check everyone coming into and out of the base. They were heavily armed and armoured, and even form this distance he could see the grim set of their faces. Just because the gates were open, it did not mean security was slack.

'And letting people in,' Roy said, a trace of true amusement in his voice as he pointed out two people talking to one of the sentries. Ed would recognise Al from a mile away, and there was no doubt that the blonde-haired girl at his side was Winry. Her tool bag was hanging from one hand, and the other was gripping onto Al's sleeve as if she were uncertain of letting go.

Ed let out a sigh, stepping back and rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck. 'I'd better go and make sure they let them in. Her mood will only get worse the longer they hold her up.' He squeezed his right hand into a fist, feeling the movement of tendons, rather than steel plates, and silently braced himself for the rage he feared was to come.

'Bring them both up here,' Roy suggested. 'It's best that no one wanders too freely around the base, military or otherwise. We definitely don't need them getting up to anything. And Ed?'

'What?'

'Don't worry. I'm sure she'll be happy for you.'

'Then you clearly don't know Winry,' Ed snorted, flicking something like a wave over his shoulder as he left the office, banging the door shut behind him and heading down towards the parade ground.

The corridors were quiet and tense, and Ed rounded his shoulders as he felt the atmosphere press down on him. Yesterday, before the explosion, suspicion had lingered like a thin mist, but now it was like smoke, thick and choking. It seemed as if years of trust amidst the soldiers had been obliterated in a moment, and while some remained sensible, it was almost impossible to ignore the whispers.

'It's the alchemists – it's got to be,' one secretary hissed to a friend as she paced past, giving Ed a quick, frightened-mouse glare before turning away.

'Why would they blow-up headquarters?' her friend asked, shifting the files in her arms. 'They work here, too. They have friends here. They're not going to...' Her voice faded from hearing as they rounded the corner, and Ed shook his head, knowing that the secretary's fears were not isolated. In the canteen that morning he had heard far worse. For some reason, those who were afraid of the alchemists seemed to speak the loudest, and he had heard more of their paranoia than he had the voice of reason.

Maybe the culprit had been an alchemist, but the explosion had not been caused by an array. Roy's men were steadily gathering overwhelming proof of that fact. Besides, it was the power people were afraid of. Perhaps it had always lingered there, in the back of their minds, that alchemists were better and stronger than them because of the energy they could control, but now a few murmurs of discontent were gathering volume. Ed struggled to remember a time when he had felt quite so threatened within Central.

The parade ground was lined with sentries, who urged people not to hang around and kept them clear of the distant slew of rubble. Ed eyed the fallen stones grimly, knowing that the clean-up would take an age. He could see the flash and flare of alchemy, and guessed it was Armstrong lending a hand. Al would probably want to help, too, but somehow Ed doubted the military would let a civilian anywhere near the scene. Everything was too tense and fragile, and surely even Hakuro could see that a civilian injury or death could turn a cloud of discontent into a storm none of them could weather.

Trotting over to the sentry post, he showed his scrappy authorisation to the guard, who took it between thumb and forefinger. 'My watch was stolen,' Ed said defensively, giving Winry and Al a small smile as he waited for the soldier to decide whether or not to let them pass. Eventually, he agreed, charging Ed to keep them under constant surveillance for their own safety. They were signed into a book and issued badges, something Ed had not seen for ages, before they were finally permitted onto the parade ground.

'What happened?' Al asked. 'Are you all right?'

'Someone set off a bomb. I was well out of it, but some people weren't so lucky.' He looked Al up and down, deeply grateful that Al had been out in the relative calm of the city, rather than captured in the web of poisonous suspicion that locked Headquarters in its grasp. 'What about you two?'

'We're fine,' Winry replied, giving Ed a meaningful look. 'Al took me back to your apartment and told me everything.' Her lips pinched in a fierce line, but eventually she shook her head, waving her hand at the mess. 'What have you got yourself into this time?' It was a gentle question, but Ed could still detect Winry's hard edge of ferocity beneath her words.

'We have no fuckin' clue,' he muttered, shoving open the door and leading the way into the main building. He tried to shut his ears to the murmured conversations around him, but it was impossible to ignore the distrustful glares. Al noticed them too, and he could feel his brother, tense and uncomfortable, as he drew closer to his side.

'Why does everyone think that it's the alchemists' fault?' Al asked. 'It's the same outside. There's graffiti everywhere, and the station was full of people saying Alchemists should be locked up, or worse!'

Ed shrugged, his lips twisting in a sneer. 'It's been happening for a while. This whole mess has just made them louder.'

'Not in Risembool,' Winry cut in, shaking her head. 'Or Rush Valley. Everyone there loves alchemists. Even on the train I didn't hear anything like this.'

Ed paused outside the door to the office, looking at her thoughtfully. 'Really?' He rubbed at his eyes, grimacing as he realised how baffled he sounded. It was reaching the point where he had no idea which information was essential fact and what was trivial to the situation. For all he knew the slightest throw away comment could bring it all into focus, but right now they were all swimming in a sea of confusion, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

'Maybe it just hasn't got that far,' he said at last, shouldering his way into the office. 'I didn't know much about people being against alchemists until all this started. Suddenly it's like you can't get away from it.

Winry smiled a greeting to Roy's men, who must have trooped back in during Ed's brief absence. They all seemed tired and dusty, but there was a bright alertness in their eyes, and they all greeted her with smiles of their own. Briskly, she put her bag on the desk that Falman offered her before turning to Ed, her blue eyes narrowed in thought.

'Is it safe to talk in here?' she asked quietly, gesturing to his arm as he nodded. 'Then start at the beginning. Has a doctor checked it out?'

He answered her questions as fully as he could, perching on the edge of the desk and removing his shirt. He kept the black vest on and let Winry do her job, wincing as she pressed at his arm none-to-kindly.

'What are you looking for?' Al asked from where he sat nearby.

'Anything that might be left,' Winry replied. She was frowning into the distance, paying more attention to the feel beneath her fingertips than actual sight. 'There's more to Automail than what's on the surface. It's not so much of an issue with Ed's leg, though stray bolts could interfere with the joint. It's more what could be left in his shoulder and chest that I'm worried about.' She raised an eyebrow, indicating he should take off his vest, and Ed gave a quick, hard glare around the rest of the room. Just because Roy's men seemed engrossed in what they were doing didn't mean they weren't paying attention.

Reluctantly, he did as he was asked, and heard Winry's surprised indrawn breath. 'Even the scars are gone,' she murmured. 'It's like it never happened.' Her eyes were full of wonder, rather than hurt, and Ed saw her and Al share a glance he couldn't read. Of course, they had been awake and aware during the surgery: silent spectators and participants in the agonising procedure. Even now, Ed's memory shied away from that brief time, but from the look on Winry's face, he could see she recalled every moment of it.

'Did the doctors do any x-rays or anything?'

'No,' Roy's voice said quietly, and Ed looked up to see him leaning on the door frame to his office, watching the show with a concerned gaze. 'Doctor Wallis did suggest it to me, but the less evidence we have of this happening, the better. It would be too easy for the x-rays to fall in to the wrong hands.' He shifted restlessly before bowing his head. 'Of course, Miss Rockbell, if you think they're necessary then we'll take the risk, but you must have realised what could happen to Ed if the military found out about this.'

Ed heard her swallow painfully, and the fingers at his shoulder became uncertain for a moment before she nodded her head. 'Al told me. There are a couple of other tests I can do, but if any of them show anything suspicious, he'll need the x-rays.' She lifted her chin, and Ed saw something like a flash of dark humour in her eyes. 'Besides, cellulose film burns easily enough, General. We can destroy the evidence as soon as it tells us all we need to know.'

Ed met Roy's eyes, knowing it was more complicated than that. There would still be the people who operated the x-ray machine and explaining away Ed's brief absence from headquarters. Still, he had to admire Winry's intelligence. She had always been a brilliant mechanic, but it seemed she was turning that bright mind to other avenues. Maybe the time in Rush Valley had done her good. After all, she hadn't hit him with a wrench yet...

'Does that hurt?' she asked, poking solidly at one of his ribs as if it had caused her personal offence.

'Of course it does when you push it that hard,' Ed grumbled, wincing as she jabbed at the gap. At least she kept her fingernails short, but the pressure as almost bruising as she nudged at the side of the bone. 'Why?'

'We used the intercostal spaces, that's the gap between your ribs, to anchor the port. If there were any bits of it left, they could be dangerous.' She glanced around the office, her eyes resting on Fuery's toolkit. 'Do you have a weak magnet in there?'

Obligingly, Fuery handed one over, watching in interest as she touched the cool bit of metal to Ed's skin.

'Newer models of Automail are made of alloys that don't react to magnets, but yours was mostly steel, which has a lot of iron in it,' she explained, repeating the procedure up the length of Ed's right side and over his shoulder. 'This magnet's too weak to pull anything from its place in you, but if there's anything within a couple of inches of it, I'll feel the pull.'

After another couple of minutes of silent examination, she moved onto his knee, touching slightly on the joint and apologising as Ed winced. 'You've been pushing yourself too hard,' she growled, and now there was a definite hint of that old anger in her eyes.

'It's all right,' Ed replied. 'If I don't use it, it'll never work.'

'You're treating it like Automail.' Winry shoved the magnet down on the desk and grasped Ed's leg with both hands, flexing his knee with surprising care. 'I know you hated it, but it was a damn good design. It withstood almost anything you threw at it, and considering it was attached to you, that's saying something!'

She took a deep breath and met Ed's eyes squarely. 'You can't do that, not any more. Fixing Automail is annoying and expensive, but it's possible. The same can't be done to replace the bits of you that you abuse.'

Ed winced at her temper, giving a grudging nod of understanding. Of course, Winry knew the trick of getting him to look after his automail was to yell at him for it in front of Al. The same applied this time, except it was flesh and bone she was staring at with a critical eye, and one glance from his brother to Roy left Ed sure they wouldn't let him forget her warning words.

'It's been a busy couple of days,' he mumbled as an excuse, shrugging his shoulders when Winry raised an eyebrow.

'It always is, with you.' She sat back on her heels, her lips pursed in thought before she shrugged her shoulders. 'I can't see that there's any left in you at all. There's no scarring, either on the surface or in the deep tissue, and your ribs seem fine. I expected some damage, as if it had been torn away, but it's like it was removed with care.' She scratched at her eyebrow before looking up to meet his gaze. 'If you feel anything weird, we'll take an X-ray, but as far as I can tell, you're fine – physically anyway.'

'Thanks, Winry' Ed reached for his vest again, pausing when she made a sound of surprise. For a moment he thought she had seen something that she had missed before, but when he looked she was staring at the magnet. She had put it down on the desk, and something from amidst the clutter had been drawn to its pull. Now she reached out and tugged it free, examining it with a knowing gaze.

'You kept one of the bolts at least. I guess you didn't lose everything I gave you after all.'

Gently, Ed took it from her grasp, turning the small piece of metal over in his fingers. Now that she mentioned it, it did look familiar, like on of the dozens of pins that held his arm together and kept it moving smoothly. 'This is from my automail? Are you sure?'

'Yes,' Winry gave a confused smile. 'It's a nineteener bolt. One that goes in the wrist.' She cocked her head to the side, her nose wrinkling in uncertainty as she added. 'You seem surprised.'

'Where did you get it from, Brother?' Al asked, taking it from his fingers and turning it to the light.

'It was in the hand of the soldier that Foster killed.' Ed looked over at Roy, his expression dark as an enormous horror felt as if it had opened up inside him. 'I think he pulled it out of Foster's arm.'


	17. Chapter 17

The image of Foster chained up in that cell flashed across Roy's mind, vivid and detailed. The only movement had been the jerk of his head and the clenching of his fists: ten flesh fingers and emaciated arms hidden by the ugly prisoner uniform. 'His arm looked like skin and bone to me,' Roy murmured, watching Ed nod in agreement.

'I don't mean it was a straight swap,' Ed replied. 'He still had his arm, but that doesn't mean the Gate isn't playing games. It could have just stuffed the bolt into his real wrist, left it sticking out or something... I think the soldier that Foster killed just grabbed it and pulled.'

A quick, cold flash of repulsion rushed down Roy's spine at Ed's words, and he stared at the innocuous object in Al's hand. It was not an inconsequential piece of metal: about half the length of his little finger and just as thick. His skin crawled at the thought of such a thing being embedded into a living body.

'Do you know that for certain?' Roy asked, leaving the sanctuary of the doorway and moving closer for a better look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ed tug his vest back on, his lips twisted in a grimace.

'Foster was bleeding when Clarke took control, more than you'd expect if the soldier he killed scratched him.' Ed sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Foster screamed when it happened, but not for long. It must've hurt.'

Roy took the bolt from Al's hand and tilted it to the light. Now he knew the likely truth, the dark stains in the screw-thread took on a darker meaning than simple grease. Foster had been losing his mind the last time they saw him, but had he really been so far gone that he barely even noticed someone pulling this free from the living tissue of his arm?

'You wondered what had happened to him when he took your alchemy,' Roy murmured. 'Maybe this is part of the price he paid? If one of your bolts ended up in him, then what's to say the rest of your automail isn't inside his body somewhere as well, hidden under the skin?'

Winry made an angry, disgusted sound. 'Is that even possible? There were a lot of components to Ed's arm and leg. If you tried to shove it in a human body there probably wouldn't be much space left for anything else.'

'The Gate can do what it wants,' Ed replied. 'Worse, it make people live with what it's done. Foster seemed all right in the interrogation room, but that could have already changed, and we have no idea where Clarke's put him, so we can't even check if I'm right.' He jumped down off the desk, picking up the shirt that normally hid his arms from sight and slipping it on before grabbing his gloves.

'Hughes is working on that,' Roy promised, feeling the weight of failure drag down at his shoulders all the more. 'And there are a few people I can call who might be able to point us in the right direction. I'm afraid all we can do is wait until we have some answers.'

'While you're doing that, sir, there's still this paperwork to sign.' For once, there was an expression of apology on Hawkeye's face, but she still held out the files meaningfully.

He accepted the dossiers with good grace and glanced around the room. His men were all busy, clear cut in their roles and able to manage their own workloads. No one needed orders from him, so he nodded his head and turned back towards the office before calling over his shoulder, 'Al and Miss Rockbell should probably get back home. Headquarters is not exactly the best place to be right now.'

'Are you sure I can't help?' Al asked, and before Roy could answer Havoc spoke up.

'I could use an extra pair of hands with the filing, actually, sir. It's nothing dangerous or confidential, but otherwise I'll be here all week.'

'And I can stay quiet and out of the way,' Winry added. 'I have something to be working on.'

With a quick look back, Roy met Ed's eye, seeing no objection there. He was already settling back down to the books he had been decoding. 'All right, but get someone to take you to the gate when you leave, and don't go out of this office without someone accompanying you.' He grimaced in apology. 'It's for your own safety.'

With a sigh, he struggled back towards his desk, dropping the paperwork and rubbing a hand through his hair as he tried to relieve the tight twist of stress that locked his spine in place. Every moment he was kept in the dark, Roy grew more on edge. The only way to make it any better was to act, and there was at least one thing he could do to increase their chances of getting the information they needed.

Quickly, he picked up the phone, arranging a meeting with several likely allies in an hour's time before turning to the files that required his attention. He read through the documents with fluid ease, signing them where required or querying their basis. None of it was critical, but the world did not stop when things went wrong. People still needed paying and equipment had to be accounted for: such was military life.

Time passed, and before long a knock on the door made him look up. He smiled as Hawkeye let in two men and one woman, all with matching expressions of earnest curiosity on their faces. Roy as used to dealing with his enemies, but he was glad to call these people his friends.

Lieutenant Griffiths was the eternal drifter; he moved departments frequently, more interested in the company he kept than the job at hand, but that meant he knew every little rumour. He was an excellent source of information in dire times, which was just what Roy needed.

Major Fry was in charge of the communications division. His job lay in wiring and hardware, but there was an unexpected side effect. He knew who was spying on whom within the military, and he had always done Roy a great service of informing him of new enemies that could cause trouble.

However, it was Colonel Worth who controlled the greatest flow of information. Most secretaries were unranked within the military, but she was the officer in charge, and as such had access to all the information the secretaries saw in the course of their duties. If he could convince Colonel Worth that this was beyond a personal request and something in the best interests of the military, she might be able to give him some official documents he could use.

'Thank you for meeting with me at such short notice. I appreciate it,' Roy said, waving them towards the comfort of the sofa and armchairs near the fireplace. He watched them settle in their seats, taking note of the changing emotions he could see before him and considering the best way forward.

It was rare that Roy bothered with disarming honesty, but on this occasion, it seemed worth it. There was too much at stake to lose amidst the depths of his manipulations. 'The explosion on base, as well as the growing anti-alchemist movement in the city has the whole of headquarters on edge, and the criminal who may be the key to the situation has been moved from my jurisdiction.'

'By General Clarke?' Griffiths said with a pitying smile.

'Exactly. Unfortunately, with no way to question the prisoner, I can't make any further advances on neutralising the situation before it gets out hand.'

Worth frowned, her red lips pursed. 'With all due respect, Brigadier-General Mustang, surely the Fuhrer is best placed to diffuse the tensions in the city?'

Roy nodded his head in concession. 'I would like to think that if Fuhrer Hakuro had all the facts untainted by anyone else's influence, he would take steps to do so. However, he has listened to advice from close colleagues, and has been convinced that there is no cause for concern.'

'And you think differently,' Fry stated, nodding in sharp agreement. 'It's all over the wires.' He shrugged in apology. 'The explosion destroyed a lot of the network, I’ve been cutting into people's calls all day.'

'And what have you heard?' Roy asked, leaning forward as he focussed all his attention on the grey-haired man. 'What are the lower ranks saying?'

'It's panic,' Fry replied, nodding towards Worth meaningfully. 'Seven of your secretaries didn't show up this morning. Between the bombs and the alchemists, they're too afraid to come back to work.'

'I'm with Fry,' Griffiths added. 'All I've been hearing all day is people smacking down the alchemists. Most people might be reserving judgement, but those who've made up their mind aren't keeping their mouths shut about it.'

'I have been aware of some discontent in my department,' Worth conceded. 'It's ruining productivity and creating a great deal of strain.'

Roy nodded, glancing into the fire that burned in the grate for a moment. 'It's not surprising. We all know how much the military relies on trust within the ranks to function.' He sighed, wishing there was more he could do than subtle manipulations in the shadows. 'The Fuhrer has been convinced that it's not a problem. That's why I'm moving in any way I can to bring this back under control, but I need to know where that prisoner was taken. The slightest clue any of you can give me would be better than what we have now.'

Silence filled the room, thick and thoughtful, and Roy could see the wheels turning in the minds around him. Worth, Fry and Griffiths were intelligent, solid people, but more importantly, their ranks and ages were such that personal machinations were not a concern. None of them counted themselves among Roy's competitors, and as such they were free to make decisions without being hampered by their personal desires for promotion.

'What makes you so sure the prisoner can help you?' Worth asked. She always needed convincing, but she was watching him carefully as if she would be examining more than just his words.

'There isn't much I can tell you,' Roy said, the apology in his voice genuine as his mind raced. Before the explosion, all they had wanted from Foster was a way to get Ed's alchemy back, but Roy's thoughts kept returning to that last interrogation, and Foster’s chilling words.

'We were interviewing the prisoner when the bomb went off. Something he said suggested he may have been aware of its presence and the time of its detonation. If he has accomplices, we need to know who they are.' He dropped his voice to a murmur. 'Somehow, I don't think General Clarke believes that information is as high a priority as I do.'

He felt the acceptance sweep through the room like a tide. General Clarke was well-known throughout the military. Griffiths had worked for him for a while, and frequently commented that it was the worst few months of his career. Not because it was dangerous or particularly cruel, but because Clarke was not a team player. He moved alone, and his men were left baffled and confused while their general's moods and actions shifted from one day to the next.

'I'll see what I can catch on the wire,' Fry promised. 'How should we get this information to you? I'm guessing that you don't want it in writing.'

Roy shook his head. 'Don't call it in, either. Our lines are tapped, as I'm sure you know.' He smiled at Fry, who gave a growl of irritation.

'I clean them up whenever I find them, but I'm just one person...' He shrugged, before waving a hand. 'So how should we tell you what we find out?'

'Give a vocal report to Lieutenant Hawkeye. She has the best memory among my men, and is one of my most trusted aides.' Roy smiled, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck. 'If anyone asks you why you came here, it was for a brief report on stockpiling copper wire and typewriter ribbon. Nothing we have said will have been overheard, but if we speak loudly enough for the red light on that device to blink, the bugs in the office will pick it up.'

'I have just one more question, sir,' Worth asked, her voice dipped low and intense. 'People are saying an alchemist was responsible for the explosion. Is that true?'

Roy drew in a deep breath, knowing that only the truth would suffice. 'Images that looked like arrays were found near the scene, but every alchemist who examines them says the same thing: They would not hold a charge.' He shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head. 'I can't tell you whether an alchemist blew up headquarters or not, because I don't know. Our only certainty is that it was explosives, and not alchemy that caused the destruction.'

He wished he could be more definitive and lay the blame for the death and chaos at a non-alchemist's door, but dishonesty would get him nowhere. Besides, allies deserved as much of the truth as he could give, and as Worth nodded, he saw the acceptance in her gaze.

Lifting her voice, she spoke naturally, making the light on the sound monitor flicker. 'Thank you, Brigadier-General Mustang. I'll be sure to begin stringency measures immediately to avoid a shortage of typewriter supplies.'

'And I'll audit the department, with Griffiths' help,' Fry added. 'Perhaps there are some bales of wire that have already been placed aside that can get us through this shortage.'

Roy smiled to himself, giving them his thanks as they briefly continued to discuss the issues of their cover story with genuine sincerity. Perhaps it would not stand up to the closest scrutiny, but right now Roy was hoping that most of the military had more important concerns than keepings tabs on him, and this excuse would pass by without raising alarms.

A few minutes later, Worth, Fry and Griffiths departed his office, and Roy prayed that, between them, they would come up with the information. Hughes was good at digging in the dark corners, but these days the intelligence office was stretched, and sometimes the answer lay in plain sight. With any luck, someone would give him what he needed before long.

With a sigh, he settled back into his chair, turning to the paperwork that still awaited his attention. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked as the fire crackled happily in the grate, chasing away the chill of the day as it drew to a close. Gradually, the sounds from the outer office dimmed, switching from a bustle to little more than a whisper. Periodically, Hawkeye came to remove or replace some of the files, and it was only when the door banged back on its hinges that Roy jerked his head up, blinking owlishly at Ed.

'Office is empty,' he said, jerking his head to the door, 'and they're letting people go home. That can wait until tomorrow.' He jabbed a finger at the paper spread over Roy's desk, and there was something – some unforgiving light in his eyes that told him Ed was not about to take any excuse. 'You look like shit.'

'Thank you, Fullmetal,' Roy muttered, giving him a half-hearted glare which turned into a full on frown when he noticed the cut on Ed's cheek. It was straight and short, but from the looks of it, it had only just started to clot. 'What happened to your face?'

Ed's glove went automatically to his cheek, and the scowl turned thunderous as a blush flared across his skin. 'Got stupid in training with Hughes, that's all. Some dumb shit had sharpened one of the training knives. Hughes was showing me how you could steer someone's actions with a carefully thrown blade, and it cut me when he threw it.'

'Hughes did that to you?'

Ed groaned out loud, stepping back as Roy got to his feet. 'By accident. He almost burst into tears. It's as bad as working with Armstrong.'

'He's had a trying couple of days,' Roy murmured, still trying to push aside the sudden nervous, nauseous swoop his stomach had taken. 'Otherwise, he would have checked the knife edge before he threw it. Even with a practice knife, that must have still hurt.'

Ed shrugged, and the expression on his face was almost amused. 'Training's meant to hurt, Mustang. Otherwise you're not doing it right. Besides, Hughes has done a good job. He suggested I talk to Hawkeye about using a gun.'

It was impossible to miss the flicker of discomfort on Ed's face, and Roy reached out, switching off his desk lamp and reaching for his coat. 'I know you'd rather not use one if you have to, but the skill is worth having, in case you find yourself with no alternative.'

Ed rolled his shoulders, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 'I know. I just – it feels that if I can use a gun, then I'll be a solider, not an alchemist.'

'It is possible to be both,' Roy said softly, very much not pointing out that, right now, Ed did not quite qualify as an alchemist either. 'I manage all right.'

'I don't think I've ever seen you use a gun,' Ed muttered, waving a hand idly as he reached for the door handle. 'Are you coming or not?'

But Roy was staring at the grate. His clenched fingers, ready to snap and extinguish it, rested forgotten at his side. He was certain that when Ed had walked into the room there had been a cheerful blaze glowing there, but now the wood crackled with the dying stars of a flame extinguished, and only embers remained.

'Did you...?'

Ed looked at the hearth, then back at Roy as if he had lost his mind. 'No. You must have done it.'

'I didn't snap my fingers,' Roy mumbled, placing a hand in the small of Ed's back and urging him out of the office, ignoring the faint growl of annoyance that rumbled in Ed's throat. 'Hawkeye mentioned something about how unusually cold it got when you were talking to Clarke at the explosion site, and how the ice formed around your boots first.'

'So?' Ed stepped away from Roy's hand, turning to face him and folding his arms.

'Strange things have been happening, that's all,' Roy replied, shaking his head. Maybe he had snapped his fingers. It was instinctual after all, and he was weary enough to be working on autopilot. 'Mind you, nothing about this week has been ordinary. What happened to Al and Miss Rockbell?'

If Ed noticed the change of topic, he did not comment. 'Back at the apartment, probably. I took them to the gate halfway through the afternoon, though Al complained the whole way. Did you know he told his lecturers he was having family problems and they gave him time off? Just like that?'

Roy smothered a grin, mostly at Ed's indignation at being called a "family problem". 'Alphonse is probably the brightest student the university has ever had, and I doubt he'll stop studying just because he's not attending classes for a while.' He twisted the key in the lock, making sure the office was secure before setting off down the corridor. 'Besides, he'll probably go back and find out he's ahead of everyone else.'

Ed grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked towards the main doors. 'That's not the point.' He sighed, rubbing at his temple as they made their way onto the parade ground. The sun had set a while ago, and the ice of the night was starting to set in. Winter was almost upon them, and Roy watched his breath steam in the air as they passed the bomb site.

Already extensive repairs had been done, and before long it would be almost as if it had never happened. Only those who had lost their lives would stand in testament, and Roy's stomach churned with anger to think that Hakuro was not busy bringing the culprits to justice. A Fuhrer should look after his men. Perhaps Clarke had poisoned Hakuro's mind, but Roy suspected there had been nothing but rot and corruption in that skull to start with.

'You got any food in?'

The question caught Roy by surprise, and he glanced down at Ed's expression as his heart did a strange skip in his chest. He wasn't sure whether it was alarm or happiness, but he raised an eyebrow as he realised Ed was basically inviting himself back to Roy's home.

Ed gave him a faintly irritated frown, seeming to read his expression with ease. 'Look, I won't barge into your place if you don't want me to, but it's getting late, and we're both hungry. We might as well eat something. You probably only had coffee for lunch.'

'And you're any better?' Roy asked pointedly.

'You got me a sandwich, remember? Now it's my turn. 'Course, I could just go back to the apartment and leave you to sulk...'

Roy sighed, but a smile was struggling to break out onto his lips. He was so used to relationships being a graceless, uncertain game, but Ed took one look at all the socially defined structures of how it should go and then ignored them. He just barged in and started making himself comfortable, and something in Roy curled up, warm and happy to know it really could be this easy.

He bumped Ed's shoulder subtly, aware of Hughes' warning words about what could and couldn't be done in public. 'Can you even cook?'

'No, I survived on assignments for years on my own by getting take-out,' Ed growled sarcastically. 'What do you expect?'

'Al always struck me as the more domestic one.'

Ed's snort of laughter seemed warm in the evening air, light-hearted after the burden of the day, and Roy felt a grin pull unbidden at his lips. 'Al can cook if he has to, but what's good to him is bland to me. I deliberately leave spice and stuff out of his food and he still complains about it.'

Roy bit his tongue, still secretly amazed that cooking fell into Ed's repertoire. Of course, considering how much Ed ate, then Roy should have known he would have to cook for himself sometimes, but he never seemed particularly picky. He wolfed his way through an expensive meal or canteen fare with equal gusto, and Roy was more than a little concerned about what he would find on his plate when left to Ed's mercy. The idea was nice; he simply struggled to marry Ed's single-minded intelligence with a gift of any culinary arts.

'How about we both cook?' he suggested, compromising with natural efficiency. 'If nothing else, you'll need me to help you work out where to find things, or you'll spend more time looking in cupboards than anything else.'

The busy streets of Central passed peacefully underfoot. Shops and offices gave way to town houses as he and Ed walked, speaking of whatever came to mind. However, the conversation invariably turned back towards the mess of confusion within military headquarters, and by the time Roy unlocked his front door, the burden rested heavy on his shoulders once more.

'I don't know what more I can do,' he murmured as he hung up his coat. 'This started off just being about you and Foster: close and easier to control. Now it feels like everything is happening at once and the entire city is involved. I can't even work out if Foster had anything to do with that explosion or if he was just messing with our minds.'

He looked over his shoulder and paused, drinking in the sight of Ed in his hallway. He looked so comfortable, like a lion at ease in its own territory, rather than a stranger in an unknown home. Normally, Roy was wary of inviting anyone in his domain, but even now, so early on in their relationship, it was impossible to think of keeping Ed out.

'Anything you get out of Foster is probably bullshit anyway,' Ed pointed out, leaning back against the wall as Roy shrugged out of his jacket and undid the top button of his shirt. 'I want to know why Clarke cares so much about him. He's anti-alchemist and has no real clue about the labs, so why is he so keen to be in charge of Foster? Is he trying to find out more about what happened – to get to you through me – or is he trying to protect himself in case Foster says things he shouldn't?'

Roy shrugged, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. There was a time, not too long ago, that he would never have dreamed of showing such obvious frustration in front of Ed. He always tried to master his emotions, but this whole mess was pushing his control to the limits. He wished he could say he feared for the future of Amestris, but that concern seemed too large and nebulous to grasp. Instead his mind focussed inwards, on Ed, and all the ways that the next few days could be his downfall.

As if reading him like a book, Ed pushed away from the wall and moved closer, rubbing his gloved hand down Roy's arm, asking permission that Roy gave readily.

Ed slipped into his embrace with ease, and Roy felt some of the dead weight within him drift away, supported by Ed's strength and shielded by the firm curve of those arms around his waist. He could smell the scent of Ed's shampoo and the fainter, sharper fragrance of his skin, and the gentle stroke of his hands at the base of Roy's spine seemed to simply eradicate the stress that had bitten its way into his muscles. However confused he was out there – beyond the door to his home – here he could relax with Ed by his side.

Roy smiled at the thought, thinking how strange it was that life could reverse so quickly. A week ago he had felt that the military was a navigable quagmire, almost mundane in its predictability. Only his personal life was a fraught minefield of failed relationships and unrequited, well-hidden desire. Now the world had switched around, and he had never felt so at home in his own house.

'Forget about Foster and Clarke for tonight,' Ed suggested, stepping back and looking around at the closed doors that pocked the walls of the entrance hall. 'Which one's the kitchen?'

Roy grinned, pointing to the door to the right of the staircase. He was reluctant to let Ed go, but hunger was starting to make its presence known to both of them. He did not know precisely where this evening was taking them, but filling his stomach was an annoying first priority.

'I'll see what you've got in,'

'I'll be there in just a minute,' Roy promised. 'If I don't get the fire lit now, this place will only get colder.'

Ed's grin was crooked, and for someone so bold and confident it came across as disarmingly shy. 'Don't be too long.'

Slowly, he turned on his heel and made his way into the kitchen, vanishing out of Roy's sight. A woman would probably have swung her hips and cast a coy parting look at him over her shoulder, but if Ed was aware of that kind of tiresome game then he showed no sign of wanting to play. He was as focussed as always, and Roy was surprised at the relief he felt. In years gone past, he had joined in lovers' play with relish, but lately he had grown tired of realising that no one came out the winner. Hughes was always telling him it was not about victory and defeat, but this was the first time Roy had found even the faintest inkling of comprehension of his friend's words.

Shaking his head, he pushed his way into the living room, turning on lights and leaving the doors open. The fireplaces in his house were large — a deliberate decision. He had always loved fire in an aesthetic sense, but he also felt the cold, and a large blaze in the hearth could spread heat through a house with ease.

Something tweaked on the edge of his vision, and he lifted his head sharply, braced for some kind of attack, but the flickering firelight offered no threats. His hands were clenched into fists, but belatedly his other senses began to take in clues. The familiar, homey scent of wood-smoke teased his nose, and the first blooms of gentle heat were already stirring the air in the living room. The fire had not been lit long, but Roy was certain this time that he had done nothing to get the blaze going.

Biting his lip, he turned back towards the kitchen, forgetting all about dinner as something new, bright and painfully hopeful flared in his heart. Odd things had been happening over the past couple of days, and Roy might not possess Ed's genius, but he had enough of a brain to know that something was different, and Ed was in the middle of it.

'The fire's already going,' he said as he strode into the kitchen. As statements went, it was not particularly enlightening, but he was too busy focussing on Ed, looking for any kind of reaction – any sign that he knew what Roy suspected he was doing.

Ed glanced over his shoulder in surprise, giving a shrug before he went back to chopping up mushrooms. 'Did you leave it lit? One of these days you're going to burn something down.'

'The wood in the grate was fresh, and only just starting to char. It was started while we were in the house this evening, and I didn't light it. The same way I didn't extinguish the fire in my office.' He swallowed, hating to bring up the subject, but knowing it had to be addressed. 'Are you sure you can't do alchemy any more?'

He could almost see the hackles go up on Ed's neck, shoulders hunching and his voice sharp. 'Yes, Roy, I'm sure. It's not magically come back to me somehow. The Gate took it and gave it to Foster.'

'Since when is the Gate ever that simple?' Roy asked, raising his hands in surrender as Ed spun around. He had put the vegetable knife down, which was a relief, but the expression on his face was harsh, all angles and a deep frown. 'You know about it better then me, I know, but just think about it. What's the first thing an alchemist learns how to do?'

Ed narrowed his eyes, as if he suspected Roy was asking him some kind of trick question. 'Changes of state and energy balances. You can't do alchemy without the foundation.'

Roy nodded, his heart climbing in his throat as he spoke. 'When you argued with Clarke, the water in the air turned to ice. Hawkeye noticed the frost. Your coffee never seems to get cold. It's always steaming...'

'I drink it quickly!'

'No you don't,' Roy replied, pulling his face at the blatant lie. 'You forget about it for hours.'

Ed still looked angry, but a hint of confusion was starting to creep onto his face, as if he was beginning to realise it himself. 'Maybe someone kept filling it up again. You know what Al's like...'

Neither of them mentioned the fact that Al was rarely in the office for long these days, but Roy could feel the thought drifting in the air between them. One of his men could have been taking care of Ed in small ways since his alchemy was lost, but it seemed unlikely they would pay attention to the finer details.

'What about the fires?' Roy asked quietly. 'Extinguishing and igniting a blaze is one of the most basic steps of fire alchemy: energy conversion. The arrays are tiresome, but simple.' He held up his gloved hand. 'It's the base of this design, but I've not been using my gloves.'

'So, what?' Ed shrugged, shaking his head and turning back to the dinner. 'Mustang, I want my alchemy back. If it had turned up again, don't you think I'd be happy about it?' He chucked some meat in the pot and added some stock with quick, jerky motions. 'Every morning I still and dry my fucking hair with alchemy, or mend something I've busted rushing around making breakfast, and it doesn't work. I clap and there's nothing. There's always nothing.'

He hacked roughly at carrots and potatoes, only glancing up again when Roy put a large stewing pot on the counter beside him. 'I've not seen you clap at all. That's part of what's bothering me.' Roy licked his lips, trying to find the words to explain his treacherous train of thought. 'When you described what you thought Foster had done, you said alchemists have a dam with a channel in it between them and the power of the gate. Your floodgates have been sealed off, so you can't do alchemy any more.'

'Something like that.'

'Have you ever seen what happens to water stuck behind a dam with no way out?' Roy asked quietly. 'Most countries manage the reservoir with tributaries and drains and such, so the dam doesn't burst. If they didn't the water would go around, or over, or if there was enough pressure it would simply explode through.'

Ed chucked the vegetables in to the pot and rummaged around for spices, muttering his thanks when Roy retrieved them. 'So, what, you think the power to do alchemy is just –' He wrinkled his nose, '– leaking?'

He reached for the kettle where it sat on the cold stove top. It was a heavy cast iron thing, and it would have been too hot touch if it had just boiled, yet the water he added to the concoction billowed with steam. The white vapour curled up lovingly around Ed's face, and this time, Roy saw the spark of realisation at the discrepancy, quickly smothered by the dark shroud of doubt.

'It's a good theory,' he said at last, 'but I still think you're wrong. It's got nothing to do with me. Weird shit happens all the time.'

'To you, maybe,' Roy said softly, taking the kettle and putting it back before taking Ed's hand. It was automatic to stroke his thumb soothingly over Ed's fingers, feeling the new skin there and watching the faint flare of Ed's pupils at the caress. 'I know you miss your alchemy, and I know hope can be false, but you're not even considering this when the evidence is staring you in the face. Why not at least test the theory?'

Ed breath hissed in between his teeth, and Roy wondered if he had pushed too hard. He hated seeing Ed this uncomfortable – this vulnerable – but it was not something they could ignore. Besides, it seemed he didn't even know he was doing it, and that meant he had no control. That was dangerous for everyone concerned.

'So what do you want me to do?'

'Cook the dinner. If you do it with alchemy, it'll be done in a couple of minutes.'

'And it'll taste like shit,' Ed complained. 'Thirty minutes on the stove will mean it's at least half decent. If you're too hungry, eat some bread or something.'

Roy held in a smile, shaking his head in disbelief. Ed was right though, warming up food with alchemy was tolerable, but cooking it from raw resulted in a relatively disgusting experience. 'The fire then. Try and put it out.'

He could sense Ed's reluctance, and Roy felt his heart clench tight. The last thing he wanted was to cause Ed further pain, but this had to be done. If he was right, then the unusual occurrences of the past few days had taken another surreal turn, and if he was wrong...

At least he would be here to pick up the pieces.

He followed Ed through to the living room, noticing that Ed's graceful prowl had become more hesitant and uncertain. He glared at the cheerful blaze like he was facing down an enemy, and Roy held his breath as Ed steadily pressed his hands together. There was no flash of light, but in a way Roy was not expecting one. If the tell-tale signs of alchemy had been present when these odd changes started happening, there would have been no question about what was to blame.

'You didn't clap for anything else,' he reminded Ed again. 'Just try thinking about it.'

'That's not how alchemy works,' Ed growled, but eventually he dropped his hands to his sides, his eyes taking on an extra sharp edge as he focussed his will on the flames.

Roy watched the blaze flicker in the grate, almost praying for something to happen, but the fire remained stubbornly bright, nibbling happily on the logs and filling the room with a cheerful glow.

'See?' Ed said, waving a hand in disgust. 'I don't know why weird shit's happening, but it's nothing to do with me.' He shook his head in irritation, and Roy struggled to keep the wince off his face. Even now, he was not convinced that he was wrong, but pushing Ed any further was a sure way to make him close up and back off, and the last thing Roy wanted was an argument.

Gently, he reached out, brushing his hand up the back of Ed's neck and rubbing his thumb at the sensitive skin beneath that golden ponytail. The response wasn't instant, but Roy still smiled when Ed leaned closer, bending his head to butt clumsily at Roy's shoulder as he let out a gusty sigh. 'You almost had me believing it then.'

'I'm sorry,' Roy said quietly, his lips twisting in a grimace. 'I suppose part of me still struggles to see how alchemical power can be cut off so easily. My ability's permanence is about only thing I've ever been sure of, and I guess it's not as certain as I thought.' He turned to face Ed, nudging him closer and wrapping his arms around his waist. 'I'm just sorry it had to happen to you.'

Ed leaned against him, and he could feel the tense misery in Ed's frame, racking his muscles with claws of unhappiness. 'Yeah, me too. I'm so used to having alchemy to solve my problems, big and small. Now I just keep thinking that, even if I could get my hands on Foster or figure out an array to change things back, what good would it do? He's not going to help, and I can't use the array myself.'

Roy's spine tightened, because for the first time since all this began, he could hear something like real and painful defeat in Ed's voice. The other night at the bridge he had been close, but it seemed as if those fears had taken deeper root, poisoning his thoughts while Roy was too busy fretting about the bigger picture to pay attention.

'I think you'll get your alchemy back, one way or another,' he said at last, brushing his hand against Ed's jaw. His gloves must have been rough, and Roy almost hated the fabric in that moment, but Ed still responded, looking up at him. 'And it's not like you've been helpless when you've not had it. You were the one who decoded the books and worked out about the chemicals in the explosion.'

'Wasn't much good for anything else though, was I?'

'That's not what I heard,' Roy stepped back, peeling off his gloves and leaving them on the sofa. 'More than once I've caught people saying how you were the muscle they needed. Alchemy isn't always the right course in that kind of situation, and you have the strength to be of use when a transmutation can't help.' He took Ed's hand in his, feeling that simple thrill of skin-on-skin. Ed had removed his gloves when cooking, and now his bare hands were warm in the fold of Roy's fingers. 'I know it must feel like Foster took everything from you, but you've always been more than just an alchemist, Ed.'

He rubbed the tip of his nose down the bridge of Ed's, wishing there was a way to get through to him. All his words seemed too inadequate to give flight to the fierce belief in his heart. Ed had always been a dazzling alchemist, but that alone was not made him so special. It was the passion and conviction that formed the foundation of Ed's actions which made him stand out, and that was something that Foster could never take away.

In the end, it was Ed who moved, pressing his lips softly to Roy's mouth, hot, supple and perfect in a way that made Roy's thoughts scatter and his mind grow still. Ed's right hand tightened around Roy's while the left snagged in his shirt, holding him willing prisoner as Ed's tongue dipped in for a taste, and an eager groan rumbled in Roy's throat as he lost himself.

It was as good as the first kiss they had shared outside Ed's apartment, but stronger somehow, more confident. Most lovers held something back, but it was as if Ed laid everything bear, unafraid of judgement and criticism, and Roy was helpless to do anything but respond in kind. His hands would not stay still, brushing lightly, lovingly up Ed's arm and curling around his neck as Ed's grip curved around his waist, firm and sure.

The kiss broke with a wet sound that sent a sharp arrow of heat down through Roy's belly and into his groin, and he smirked at the sight of Ed's flushed face and burnished bronze eyes. The soft wings of affection had turned sharp with passion's edge, and Roy swallowed tightly, bending to nip Ed's swollen lips gently with his teeth and shivering in delight at the soft moan that stirred in Ed's throat.

A growl from Ed's stomach harmonised with it, and Roy gave a huff of laughter as his own joined in the chorus. The scent of tender meat and vegetables had begun to permeate the air, and one need warred with another.

'Food,' Ed said, as if seeing the battle on Roy's face, and a wicked grin darted over his lips. 'You'll need your energy.'

Roy grinned as Ed grabbed his hand and dragged him through to the kitchen. He was used to seduction, and it was not that Ed did not bother with it, but it was genuine and playful, rather than a finely crafted art. Roy couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt someone so completely and genuinely interested in him, rather than his rank or the shallow gloss of appearances.

Ed lifted the lid off the pot on the stove, and the scent was enough to make Roy's mouth water. He was hungrier than he had realised, and he reached over Ed's head for some plates as Ed doles out a hearty portion for them both. 'I guess you can cook,' Roy said with a smile, admiring the stew: tender meat, soft vegetables and a thick, spicy gravy.

'It's not exactly hard, Mustang. It's like chemistry. Put the right amount of each thing in and cook it at the right temperature, and it's fine.' Ed stabbed a bit of meat with his fork and shoved it in his mouth, clearly not caring that it was hot in his quest to silence his stomach.

'It's never been my strong suit,' Roy replied, thinking of too many dinners with hard vegetables and chewy, half-cooked meat. He preferred to eat out, anyway. It was not like there was much else to spend his money on. He blew on a piece of potato before eating it, and tried not to show complete surprise at how good it tasted. 'You could always make a living as a chef.'

Ed's response was a disbelieving snort. 'What's the point of that? Why cook if I can't eat it at the end?' He fiddled with his fork before scooping up some carrot. 'It only tastes so good because you're hungry. Best meal I ever had was in some back of beyond hole near the Drachman border. Hadn't eaten for over a day and was freezing cold. I didn't even ask what it was. I just ate it.'

Roy nodded his head, smiling as he chewed. He might not know the precise place Ed was talking about, but he knew the situation. He had eaten things he would never have put on a plate at his hungriest moments. After a while, almost anything tasted good. Except perhaps the food in the military canteen. 'Do you still cook for Al now?'

'Only if I'm there. He can manage without me. Between the two of them, him and Winry should be able to put something together.' There was a brief moment of silence as they both considered how that might go. 'Hope she doesn't try and improve the stove. Last time she did that it wouldn't work right for a week.'

Roy laughed, and the conversation flowed easily around them. Gradually, the looming problems in Roy's mind seemed to dwindle, leaving his relaxed and happy in the sanctuary of his home and Ed's company once more. He meant to keep an eye out for any other strange occurrences, but his attention was too focussed on Ed to divide itself, and if anything odd happened it slipped beneath his notice.

Soon dinner was finished, and the two of them wandered back through to the living room to settle comfortably on the couch, bathed in the fire's warm and cheerful glow. The peace of the house folded around them, and Roy grinned as Ed leaned back against him. 'Thank you for cooking dinner. I haven't eaten that well at home in a long time.'

''S okay.' Ed made a soft sound of something like contentment. 'It wasn't just for you. I needed something too. I can't even remember what I ate today. I was too engrossed in those books.'

'Did you manage to find out anything new?' Roy stretched out his legs, propping his feet on the coffee table and watching the fire in the grate as Ed shook his head. 'After what you told me in my office, I mean?'

'Not really. I could make guesses about what Acontius was getting at, but half of it's more horror story than fact.' Ed shrugged, leaning his head back further against Roy's shoulder. 'Keep feeling like I'm waiting for something – some piece we don't have to fall into place. It's driving me fucking nuts.'

'That makes two of us,' Roy said, tightening his arm briefly around Ed's shoulder. 'All we can really do is wait.' He saw the irritated frown on Ed's face and tried not to smile. Patience had never been Ed's strong suit, and that had not improved with age. Like Roy, he was a man of action, and being locked immobile by a lack of information was painfully hard to bear.

Abruptly, Roy noticed that Ed was rubbing at his temples, and his relaxed profile had become pinched, sharpened by pain. A second ago he had been relaxed against Roy's body, as casual and comfortable as if they had been in one another's arms for years. Now Roy could feel the stiffness of those muscles and the tautness of Ed's spine.

'Are you all right?'

'Just a headache,' Ed managed a weak grin, but something about the way he flinched suggested it was more painful than he wanted to let on. 'Probably because I've been hunched over a desk all–' A hiss of agony cut of his words, and Roy shifted in panic, watching Ed hunch over, curling up in on himself reflexively.

A splash of fears cluttered his mind, and he got off the sofa, kneeling down in front of Ed where he sat and taking his hands gently in his grip. Flesh fingers knotted with his, tight and desperate, and he let out a shaking breath as he realised that Ed's eyes were screwed up as if the light was agonising to see.

'I'll get Wallis,' Roy said quickly, wincing as Ed's grip tightened.

'No! I'm fine.' As if to prove his point, Ed went to stand up, and Roy's startled cry quivered in the air as the movement proved too much. He saw the light of Ed's mind flick off like a light-bulb, and Ed's body was abruptly dead-weight in his arms, almost dragging him to the ground it was so unexpected.

'Shit!' Roy pursed his lips, trying to calm the thunder of his heart as he hoisted Ed back onto the couch as gently as he could, cupping his head to cushion it for a moment before he dragged in a stuttering, fearful breath.

Abruptly, the fears rose up, trying to suffocate him as he remembered the unexplained temperature rise, the trauma of Foster's abduction, the head injury... There were so many things that could have caused this, and it was all he could do to stumble over to the phone, clumsily dialling a number and listening to it ring.

After what felt like an eternity, a rough voice answered. 'Hello?'

'Dr Wallis, it's General Mustang.' Roy licked his lips, and was spared from explaining by the doctor's brisk, professional response.

'I am assuming this is to do with Major Elric? What happened?'

'He developed a sudden, splitting headache, and lost consciousness a few moments later.' He could hear the clatter on the other end of the doctor picking up his tools, as well as the soft curse at his words.

'General, is it truly impossible to get him to a hospital?'

Roy shut his eyes at the words, wishing it was that simple. 'They'll ask too many questions,' he croaked at last. 'If there's no other choice, then we can take him, but please, will you look at him first? He's at my house in Grosvenor Road.'

Wallis' response was a gusty sigh, and if he thought anything strange about a Major being over at his superior officer's home at this time of night, he kept it to himself. 'I'll be there in ten minutes. Monitor his pulse and his breathing. If anything – and I mean anything – gets any worse, then call an ambulance.'

'Thank you.'

Roy almost threw the phone back onto the cradle as he hurried back to Ed's side. Part of him knew that an ambulance should already have been summoned, but the tangle of worry over the medical staff made up his mind for him. He did not want to risk Ed's lack of automail being discovered, not unless there was no other option.

Instead he could only keep his fingers on Ed's steady pulse and watch the rise and fall of his chest as he waited for help to arrive.


	18. No Smoke Without Fire

Ed gasped in a breath, pressing his hot face to the cool, indeterminate surface on which he lay. Part of him knew he was unconscious – that this was all a construct of his agonised mind – but he struggled to doubt the proof of his senses. A soft breeze blew across his skin, and the ground felt faintly gritty. Tin and alchemy scented the air, and he reluctantly dragged his eyes open, feeling the ache in his head shift and grind as he struggled to focus.

'Fuckin' ow,' he hissed, inching a hand towards his temples and pressing his shaking fingers to the pain there. It was obvious he wasn't in Roy's living room anymore, although his real body probably hadn't moved. It seemed his awareness had fled elsewhere, and Ed would have laughed at his own calm, rational thoughts if he didn't think it would hurt.

With a massive amount of effort, he dragged himself to his feet, his arms outstretched in the hope of catching his shaky balance. After a few quivering seconds, he managed to stay on his feet and blinked around in confusion. The light and shadow played tricks on him, making his head pound, but after a moment he managed to make sense of what he was seeing.

Gloom veiled him, but he could still make out the towering wall that stretched away as far as the eye could see. Glancing upwards, he cursed at its height, unable to miss the sunny, golden light that shone over its peak: too far away to reach.

He'd talked to Hughes and Mustang about some kind of dam between him and the Gate, but was he really here, or was it a twisted dream conjured up by his tortured mind: some effort to make his desperate theories into reality?

The discomfort twinged in his head again, and he wobbled precariously, splaying his right hand flat against the barrier to support his weight. Beneath his palm, he felt the strange wall flex, and a few grains of sand tumbled down over his skin. He probably couldn’t push it down, but that didn't mean it was as strong as it looked.

Narrowing his eyes, Ed looked back over his shoulder, seeing a tiny beam of light slicing through the twilight in which he stood: a hole at his level. For a second, his vision wobbled threateningly, and he rubbed his left hand over his eyes. Whether this was a dream or not, it wasn't like he could leave, and Ed had never been one to sit around and wait for things to happen to him, not when there was strength enough left in him to investigate.

The hole was painfully far away, and progress was slow, with one foot placed in front of the other and one hand skimming on the wall as his skull throbbed. More than once he thought he might throw up, but a few gasping, staggered breaths quelled the feeling. By the time he stumbled up to the glowing chink in the barrier, his forehead was beaded with sweat. It felt like he was walking through tar, and he hunkered down, trying to get his breath back as a high, sick note sung in his ears.

His fingernails dug in to the strange, fleshy soil that made up the wall as he dragged himself upright, feeling the heat of the light strobe over his face. It was like a sunbeam, bright, hazy and warm, and Ed felt something in him uncoil at its touch. The pain vanished as if it had been seared away, and the next breath he took was lazy and calm. It was like caffeine after a day with no coffee, a heat that wiped away every misgiving he had been carrying around since his alchemy had disappeared. This was his – his power, and it resonated softly where it touched his palm, a self-satisfied purr that made Ed sway closer to the breach and peer through to the other side.

It was like looking through a keyhole, the gap no bigger than his finger, but he could see enough. He stared through into that plane he had seen far too often: golden mist and the looming malevolence of the Gate. Its doors were closed, the carvings disconcertingly familiar by now, but the hairs on the back of his neck still prickled in alarm as he felt the undeniable burden of _something_ watching him. He was staring at the Gate and was being scrutinised by it in return.

_'Claim what is yours.'_

The words echoed in his head without entering his ears, making him flinch. Around him, the aureate light intensified, burning out his vision until he was forced away. His pulse began to thud harder, the torment buckling his knees as he clutched at his temples, his teeth clenched hard against a cry of agony. A noise still bubbled in his throat, tight and strained, and it took a few minutes to realise that was not the only sound he could hear.

There were whispers: hissed, sibilant things that dragged their claws across his brain – sand scouring rock. They rose and fell in a tide, washing away almost every other thought until, at last, words began to break free from the static. The hushed voice took on a familiar quality that had Ed scrabbling at the wall again, dragging himself upright and peering through the now dark fissure.

His brain shrieked at the motion, his stomach clenching with bile, but Ed kept his lips pressed tight as he squinted to make anything out on the other side. He knew that voice – hated it with everything he had: Foster.

With a tight noise of frustration, he bullied his eyes to focus, blinking away the gritty fall of sand that whispered down from the breach. Everything beyond looked shifting and strange, and it took a while for his crippled mind to realise what he was seeing: trees at night, blowing in the breeze, and an expanse of green that lurched abruptly, as if his gaze had panned inwards.

It lasted only a second. One heartbeat, and then the scene vanished, but Ed just caught sight of something dark and metallic, like a plate abandoned in the middle of the lawn with the word “Amery” written on it. From below, a sibilant litany of broken words reached his ears: a madman's whispers in the cradle of the night.

A fresh wave of pain had Ed swaying on his feet, his eyes fluttering shut as he slumped against the wall. He could hardly think around the new cascade of screeching, clanging agony, and no matter how hard he tried to push himself beyond it, he couldn't bring himself to move. It was as if something was burrowing into his brain, clawing and biting at tissue that had never known pain before.

He tried to cling on to this place, to find out more about what lay on the other side, but his strength failed him, muscles turning to liquid as blood and bile burned the back of his throat. Ed barely even felt his body hit the floor, too focussed on the internal sensations to notice the uncertain twilight darken to black as oblivion claimed him once more.

* * *

His thoughts skipped like a scratched record, still creaking with the lingering phantoms of pain. Senses, previously overwhelmed, began to re-initialise, and this time the information did not increase the discomfort in his skull. The crackle of a fire nibbled at his hearing, and the soft burden of a feather quilt pressed against his skin. A pillow cradled his head and aching, miserable neck, and Ed idly rolled onto his side and nuzzled deeper into the bedding, not wanting to open his eyes yet. That would mean waking up and dealing with all the military's shit, and right now that was the last thing he felt like doing.

'Are you awake?'

The soft whisper of Roy's voice was right next to him, and belatedly Ed realised that it was not just the fire and the blankets keeping his warm. There was a lazy, long sprawl at his side, not exactly in bed with him, but close enough to lend a little extra heat to the equation. There was also a heavier weight slung across his waist, and it took him a moment to realise it was probably Roy's arm, pinning him gently in place.

He managed a sleepy, not particularly articulate sound of response, reluctantly dragging his eyes open before narrowing them back to slits. The light in the room was dim, gentle enough to suggest the sun had not risen beyond the curtains yet, but his eyes felt as if they had been stabbed with burning spears, and the wavering firelight made them ache like fresh bruises.

'Ugh, what happened?' he managed at last, his voice rasping up his dry throat. 'I feel like shit.'

'You fainted.' Roy's reply sounded more worried than amused. 'About four hours ago now. Scared the crap out of me.'

'Girls faint,' Ed muttered, pressing his fingers to his forehead and wincing at the odd discomfort that still grated like ice in his skull. 'I passed out.'

Roy's snort of laughter was weak, but genuine, and Ed managed a crooked smile as he rolled onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes, the better to keep out the hateful wraiths of light that still drifted around the room. 'Sorry for freaking you out.'

'I'm just glad you're –' Roy hesitated, as if he was unsure of the right word. Eventually, he settled for, '– better. Wallis was all for sending you to hospital. I was going to give you another hour to wake up before I agreed.' The warmth of his fingers against Ed's brow was tremulous, as if asking permission, and Ed melted into the touch gratefully as Roy brushed his hair back from his gritty brow.

'Why is there sand on your skin?'

Moving his arm, Ed stared at Roy, who held up a grain in demonstration. 'It's not much, but...' He left the rest of the sentence unspoken, but Ed knew what he was getting at. Central was built on clay, and the nearest beach was about three hundred miles to the south.

An image of the strange, dusty, organic wall flashed across Ed's mind, and he stifled a groan. He had known it wasn't a dream. What was this, some fucked up way of telling him it hadn't all been in his head? 'I was back at the Gate. At least, sort of.'

'You never left this house, not physically,' Roy pointed out softly. 'You were here the whole time, so how does sand from a dream or hallucination or whatever end up on you?'

'The Gate can rip people apart, put them together broken and make them live through it anyway,' Ed pointed out, rolling onto his side again and wincing as his head protested, but at least now he could look into Roy's confused, uncertain eyes. 'Putting a bit of sand where it's not supposed to be isn't going to challenge it much. Besides, you said it yourself earlier. Strange things keep happening around me.'

Roy sighed, as if there were a dozen other questions that he was holding back. In the end, he just gave Ed a tired smile and shifted slightly where he lay on top of the quilt. 'Wallis thought it could be your head injury taking a turn for the worse, or something. It seems pretty clear that actually the pain was the Gate trying to get your attention.'

'Fuckin' brilliant,' Ed grouched, trying to stifle a whimper as Roy moved to get up. 'Where are you going?'

'To get the doctor. He needs to check you over, if nothing else.' Perhaps something, some need Ed would never dare admit to, was showing on his face, because Roy squeezed his hand in tight reassurance. 'I'll be right back, Ed, I promise.'

He watched Roy slip out the door, padding downstairs. He hadn't realised Wallis was so close, but he could hear Roy speaking softly, as if waking someone from sleep. How worried had the doctor been to stay here waiting for Ed to wake up, rather than going home? Ed's eyes lingered on the pillow next to him, where Roy's head had left a dent. He had still been dressed in his work shirt and uniform trousers, and it was clear he had not been sleeping, but rather watching and waiting, hoping Ed would come round.

With a sigh, he reached up, brushing the last tell-tale traces of sand from his skin before the footsteps on the stairs reached the door, and the doctor walked in with a faint smile on his lips.

'Awake at last, Major. You gave us a scare.' He set down a heavy leather bag by the bed and perched on the edge. 'Can you sit up for me? Tell me how you feel?'

Wearily Ed did as he was told, propping himself cautiously up on his elbows as the faint, hollow feeling in his head intensified. 'Still sore,' he managed, leaning back on the headboard. His body wasn't quite working the way it should. Muscles trembled slightly, and his stomach gave a threatening squeeze. 'Bit weak, bit sick.'

'What about your eyes? Is your vision all right? Any spots, static, anything like that?' Wallis reached into the bag, pulling out a small torch and murmuring an apology as he flashed it in Ed's eyes, making him flinch.

'No, but that hurts,' Ed hissed, trying not to scowl as Wallis gently continued his ministrations, checking the healing wound on his temple and probing gently around his skull. He checked Ed's blood pressure, murmuring at the result.

'A little high, especially for someone who has been lying in bed for the past three hours. Open your mouth please.'

Ed grudgingly accepted the thermometer, meeting Roy's gaze and rolling his eyes to try and indicate that all this was unnecessary. His only response was Roy folding his arms across his chest and giving him an admonishing glare.

The minutes passed as Wallis did a few other basic checks, umming and ahhing to himself before he removed the thermometer. 'Temperature's still slightly elevated, but no more than it was before.' White eyebrows folded down over thoughtful eyes as he scrutinised Ed carefully. 'You're not showing any signs of brain injury: no confusion is evident.' He sounded almost disappointed at that. 'For now, without more evidence, I'd have to say it was a migraine headache. Albeit a severe one, to result in a loss of consciousness.' The doctor packed away his things, drumming his fingers impatiently on his knee as he considered his advice.

'Drink plenty of fluids, try not to do anything too stressful, and if any new symptoms develop, come to the hospital.' Now his eyes switched to meet Roy's gaze. 'No arguments on that score, General. I'm not convinced that there isn't something more ominous at the heart of this. At least there, we could x-ray his skull and make sure there is no sign of inter-cranial swelling.' He sounded as if he wanted to do that immediately, rather than waiting, but a quick glance at Ed's right arm was enough to have Wallis shaking his head. 'Watch him, General,' he said at last. 'You know my recommendations, but should something go wrong, quick action on your part could save the Major's life, if it comes to that.'

Roy gave a firm nod, holding the door open and showing Wallis out, leaving Ed to sink back into the pillows, which breathed softly beneath his weight. A wry grin crossed his lips as he nestled under the quilt. He had pictured himself in Roy's bed plenty of times over the past couple of years, but this really wasn't what he'd had in mind. Rather than naked and supine in the wake of gratification, he was still dressed in everything but his boots. Even his hair was still caught up in an uncomfortable ponytail, and Ed grunted as he pulled the band free, amazed that even his hair felt as if it ached.

Reaching out to drop the band on the bedside table, he allowed himself a quick look at the room: the heart of Roy's domain. It was comfortably elegant, much like the man himself. Rich bed linens and dark wood furniture, a deep pile carpet and, of course, a massive grate in which the fire danced. A quick glance at the windows showed that it was still dark outside, the night just visible through the chink in the curtains, and the bedside clock ticked insolently, reading just past one in the morning.

'Great,' Ed muttered. Not only had he almost given Roy a heart attack by passing out in his living room, but now it was too late for a graceful retreat back to his flat. Hopefully Al and Winry wouldn't freak out if he didn't come home tonight. Maybe he should call... With a groan, he pushed the quilt back and swung his feet over the side, wincing as the rocky pain shifted and scraped.

'Where are you going?' Roy asked, and Ed looked over to where he stood in the doorway, arms folded and one eyebrow raised. At first glance, it looked like he was just being an arrogant prick, getting in Ed's way for the sake of it, but Ed had the sense by now to know that expression was superficial: a poor mask for genuine concern and a wide, strong protective streak.

'Thought I should call Al and let him know I'll be crashing on your couch,' Ed replied, his voice quiet for his own benefit. He felt hyper-sensitive, like everything had been turned up to maximum, and even words at normal volume made him cringe.

'I just gave him a ring and let him know what happened.' Roy pushed himself away from the door frame and reached out for Ed's shoulder, nudging him back down to the mattress. 'And you're not sleeping on the couch.'

'I'm not stealing your bed either,' Ed pointed out, smirking as Roy shrugged.

'Then we'll share.' The tilt of his head asked the unspoken question, checking for Ed's permission in a way that made Ed's heart thrill beneath his ribs. For a moment, he hesitated, but how could he argue with that suggestion when happiness curled beneath his ribs at the thought.

'Fine, but you better not snore,' he replied, shuffling back to the pillow with a grunt.

'I'll be back in a minute. Do you want pyjamas or do you want to sleep like that?'

Ed considered it briefly, but he couldn't be completely sure that standing up was the best idea right now. The last thing he wanted was to pass out again and end up in hospital. 'I'll be okay in my vest and boxers, thanks.' He didn't miss the quick, appreciative grin that flashed across Roy's lips, quickly hidden from sight as he turned towards the bathroom to get ready for bed, and Ed blew out a steadying breath as his pulse skipped.

He hadn't been sure where tonight was going to go when he'd dragged Roy back for dinner, but now he wasn't sure whether to thank the Gate for delivering him into Roy's bed, or curse it for making sure he couldn't put the time to good use. Desire was a sullen ember in his stomach, dampened down by the creaking discomfort in his head. It didn't matter if Roy lay himself out naked on a platter, Ed doubted he could make the most of it. Not now, anyway.

With a sigh, Ed undid the fly of his leather trousers, sliding them down his hips and off his legs before kicking them off the bed. They landed on the floor with a heavy smack, and Ed hated how the effort of something so mundane left him feeling weak and a bit shaky.

Scowling in annoyance, he let his eyes drift shut as he listened to the sounds of Roy moving around in the bathroom: the splash of water in the sink and the rasp of him brushing his teeth. They were normal noises, completely at odds with the harsh whispers of the Gate and the sick, unstable burble of Foster's voice.

'You all right?' Roy asked, making Ed lift his gaze from where he had been frowning at the bed sheets. What he saw was enough to make his throat turn dry, and he licked his lips unconsciously as he admired Roy in nothing but a fitted t-shirt and some underwear. Mustang always looked good: professional and untouchable in his uniform, but this was more rumpled and intimate, and Ed found himself unable to do anything but nod mutely.

In the end it was Roy's doubtful look that coaxed a verbal response out of him. 'Just thinking about the Gate. Trying to work out what it was talking about.'

The mattress dipped as Roy sat on the edge of the bed, lifting up the quilt and sliding in at Ed's side. He did not move too close, perhaps unsure of whether he was allowed, and Ed found himself reaching out, slipping one hand over Roy's waist in wordless request. It was all the encouragement he could give, and apparently all that was needed. Within a few heartbeats, one of Roy's arms had slipped through the gap between Ed's neck and his shoulder, and the other hand settled comfortably at his waist, warm and wonderful. It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world for Ed to rest his head against Roy's shoulder, and he smiled as he felt a soft kiss on the top of his hair, perfectly tender, as if Roy thought he might break with anything more intense.

'Tell me about it?' Roy asked. 'Maybe you'll remember some detail that helps.'

Ed wrinkled his nose before nudging closer, breathing in the sultry spice scent that lingered in the hollow beneath Roy's jaw as he tried to bring some order to the disconnected images that floated around his head. He wasn't sure if the Gate had done that, but it had happened before. He had never been able to remember exactly what happened when Al lost his body, or when Ed got it back, either. It was as if the Gate always took the logical storyline of his memories and smashed them to dust, leaving him with nothing more than glittering dust and vague emotions.

Yet this was still fresh, and even though it took a lot of effort, Ed managed to piece most of it together, speaking in a rough, low voice as he explained what he had seen. He faltered when he mentioned the wall, trying to describe the bizarre blend of flesh and stone and failing miserably. In the end he could only shrug and mutter, 'It felt like rock, hard and dense, covered in loose grit, but it was warm, living somehow – pulsing.'

Roy made a confused, humming noise. 'You mentioned a hole. If the wall was alive, does that mean it could heal and close over again?'

The sharp, unexpected bolt of panic arced along Ed's spine, and Roy's still hand abruptly slid into motion, soothing tense muscles as he hurried to explain. 'I was thinking of Foster. If you're right – if his “wall” has been torn down and there's nothing controlling the flow of power between him and the Gate – is it possible that it's not as permanent as we thought?'

A shuffling shrug was the best Ed could manage as he tried to ease the sudden knots of fear that caught in his stomach. He had been trying not to think about the hole in the wall and what it might mean. He had spent little more than a week without alchemy and the loss was a black, gnawing absence in his life. When Roy had mentioned the strange events to Ed, unnoticed changes of state and energy conversions, he had been desperate to believe that they were right – that his alchemy was finding its way back to him somehow.

Being unable to put out the fire had hurt, crushing hope with little mercy, but back there at the Gate, seeing that hole, belief had put forth tenuous vines once more. The idea of his only channel back to the Gate, however small it was, closing over once more was enough to elicit a visceral reaction. His pulse was too fast and his skin felt clammy. Stress made his chest tight, and only the continuing motions of Roy's hands, hot and steady up and down his back, seemed to be holding him together.

'I don't know if it's really alive,' he said at last, licking his dry lips and stroking his thumb back and forth against Roy's waist absently. 'Fuck knows if Foster's was even the same. The gap in mine was only big enough to get my thumb through, not much more.'

'Did you try and make it bigger?' Roy's voice was softly curious, without any trace of judgement, but Ed still felt the little twist of shame. He had been too busy trying to keep the pain at bay – trying to keep his mind from falling apart – to think logically. The shake of his head was Roy's answer, and he managed a weak smile as Roy's arms tightened around him in brief reassurance. 'What else did you see? What else happened?'

'The Gate told me to claim back what was mine, as if it thought I wasn't trying.' Ed snorted at that, dragging the quilt up a bit and scowling at Roy's chest. 'Stuff changed after that. I could hear Foster rambling, and it wasn't the Gate on the other side of the wall any more. It was –' His memory blanked, as if someone had just drawn a black curtain over his mind's eye, and he blinked in bafflement. '– Something.'

Roy drew back, frowning down at him in concern as Ed pressed the heels of his palms to his temples, growling in annoyance as he tried to focus.

'What is it?' In a second, Roy's hands were touching Ed's head, and when Ed looked up into those dark blue eyes, he could clearly see the pure, bright glow of fear and panic in their depths. Roy's steady breathing had stumbled, and his body was already tensed, as if ready to spring out of bed and call that ambulance Wallis had been so keen on.

'I'm okay. The memory was right there and then it – it just went.' He scowled, desperately trying to claw something from the mire of his subconscious. He hated the thought that the Gate was probably still messing with him here, back in the real world.

Roy's sigh of relief whispered in his ear, and Ed felt him relax, sagging back more comfortably against him. 'Don't do that to me,' Roy murmured quietly. 'I think I've had enough scares for one evening.'

Ed butted at Roy's jaw gently, his apology little more than a murmur. 'Meant to take care of you; it shouldn't have ended up being the other way around.'

A chuckle rumbled in Roy's chest, vibrating through Ed's ribs as well, jolting at his heavy heart and shaking off the lingering chains of dread and uncertainty. 'You did take care of me,' Roy promised, reaching out to tuck a strand of Ed's hair back behind his ear. 'I can't remember the last time someone dragged me home and cooked dinner just to make sure I had something to eat. Thank you.'

'Welcome.' The smile felt a bit weak on Ed's lips, but it was returned easily, and Roy's hand had moved down to the column of Ed's throat, trailing softly back and forth along the sensitive skin, over the throb of his pulse and across the arch of his Adam's apple. With any one else it would have felt like a prelude to a threat – _this is the power I have over you_ – but with Roy it was a caress, as worshipful as it was curious.

Ed meant to keep speaking, to ask Roy if he was really so unused to being taken care of that something as simple as a basic meal could be met with such gratitude. However, Roy's fingers were too clever, stealing the words away before Ed could bring them forth and calming the fearful, aching buzz of his mind to a low, rumbling purr.

Strong hands found their way to the nape of his neck, and Roy's voice was a rough whisper as he murmured, 'It's no wonder your head hurts. Your back is like iron.' He chuckled again at Ed's inarticulate, happy response, and the soothing strokes became more firm, clumsily untangling the knots of tendons and muscles that had twisted themselves beneath his flesh.

Ed's body melted into Roy's, the last shroud of tension banished by his caress as it drifted over Ed's neck and shoulders. Within minutes, he was lax and heavy-lidded, too unwound to move from where he was half draped over Roy's body. He had to be heavy, but there were no complaints. Instead Roy hooked one foot over Ed's ankle and shifted them both into a more comfortable sprawl, wrapping Ed easily in his arms and resting his head against Ed's crown.

Ed meant to speak, to at least say thank you, because Roy's tender ministrations had eased the lingering vice of pain around his head, but his body refused to cooperate with the simple instructions from his mind. Exhaustion had crept up on him, and now he was wrapped in its dark, beguiling swathes. Here he felt warm and secure, protected from the Gate and all its shit by Roy's embrace, and it was the steady beat of Roy's heart in his ear that led him steadily down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He was unaware that he had slept at all until the first ray of dawn light stole over his face, coaxing him back to the waking world with its weak lustre. Ed could hear the faint drone of the occasional car: keen commuters on their way to work in the breaking dawn, but his attention only lingered beyond the window pane for a moment before returning back to the warm nest of the bed and, more importantly, the sexy, sleeping form of Roy under him.

Cautiously, Ed moved his head, breathing a sigh of relief when there was no painful retribution. The agony from the night before had all but faded away, leaving only a faintly hollow feeling in its wake. His eyes were back to normal, no longer wincing at the faintest snatches of light, and the tense race of his heart had eased to a steady, slow beat in his chest, although that was starting to change, thanks to the man beneath him.

Ed had only seen Roy asleep a couple of times, normally in the office, trying to hide the jagged edges of a hangover from Hawkeye and succumbing to his body's need for rest. In those times he always looked awkward and uncomfortable, slumped on his desk and sleeping on the edge, as if he was half-listening for the sound of the lieutenant cocking her gun.

Now, he was completely relaxed, his body stretched out in a a lazy, big-cat-basking-in-sunlight kind of way. His eyelashes made dense, dark crescents against his pale skin, and that quick, manipulative mind was lulled to silence. All the lines of tension – the faint frowns of stress and the shallow brackets around his lips – had vanished, as had the concern from the night before.

He almost looked too good to be real, like something out of a fairytale: the perfect prince charming. Ed rolled his eyes at the thought, propping himself up on his elbow and smirking as Roy's arm, which was draped over the small of Ed's back, tightened to keep him place. Clearly, even asleep, Roy didn't want him going anywhere, and Ed had to admit that he really didn't want to move. It was warm and comfortable in the cocoon of Roy's embrace, and besides, how often did he get the chance to look at Roy, and he meant really _look_ , without being scrutinised in return?

Ed knew it was too easy not to dip beyond the masks that Roy put in place. He had spent years doing just that, seeing the soldier and not much else, but this close it was impossible to miss the little physical touches of humanity, like the faintest dust of freckles across the bridge of Roy's nose. They were ghostly reflections of the same dots that touched Ed's honey skin in summer, but they were there. There was also a tiny scar by Roy's eyebrow, a razor sharp line less than half an inch long. Dimly, Ed wondered what caused it, and he shifted slightly, moving most of his weight back to the mattress, rather than on Roy, so he could reach out and feel the blemish with his fingertips.

The skin beneath his touch was wonderfully warm, not marble after all, and a low, sleepy murmur of pleasure caught in Roy's throat as Ed dragged his fingers back through the dark hair at the man's temple. It was impossible not to trace the shell of his ear and move down to the strong column of his throat where the pulse of life beat strong and sure.

Last night all Ed had been thinking about was the pain in his head and the comfort of Roy's arms. Now he was painfully aware that they were both wearing far less than normal, wrapped up in the modest cover of the quilt and pressed together like matching puzzle pieces. He could feel the long, strong line of Roy's thigh between his legs, dusted with a light covering of hair which woke the nerves in Ed's skin to tingling awareness. Roy's t-shirt had shifted in the night, and Ed could feel the warm ribbon of exposed skin against his bare waist where his vest had shifted: a beautiful exposure.

Biting his lip, he swallowed tightly, his touch pausing by Roy's collar bone as he realised that it was not just the hard topography of Roy's hip pressed against him through the thin fabric of their underwear. The ridge of Roy's growing erection, a mirror of Ed's own unstoppable reaction, seemed to burn through the cloth between them, perfectly tempting, and he clenched his fingers into a fist as his muscles tried to move of their own accord – to carry his hand downward so he could learn the new geography of Roy's anatomy.

Fuck, but it was difficult not to let his hips roll and grind or his fingers trail down and explore. The blood in his veins, lethargic with sleep only minutes before, was steadily starting to blaze and hum, transforming each breath into a shorter, tighter gasp and flushing his skin through with heat.

For a brief moment, he considered rolling away. Somehow he didn't quite feel like he had a right to be here. Only the sudden, warm splay of Roy's hand across the base of his spine held him motionless, and he flicked his gaze up to Roy's face, seeing dark, hungry eyes, fully awake and watching him with an unmistakable smirk.

'Morning,' Roy's voice rumbled, impossibly deep, and Ed felt it resonate all the way through him, leaving his nerves humming in response. 'Feeling better?' He arched his back slightly in emphasis, pressing himself flush to Ed's arousal and making them both gasp.

'Think you can feel that for yourself,' Ed managed, butting Roy's chin gently with his head and murmuring in pleasure as Roy's fingers nestled into the tangles of Ed's hair, grasping gently, guiding him up until the sharp edge of teeth nipped softly at Ed's lip, making him twitch and moan as the swipe of Roy's tongue followed, teasing his lips apart and taking a taste.

Ed responded eagerly, not caring that neither of them had brushed their teeth yet as Roy's tongue swiped at his. Strong fingers slipped up under his vest, exploring the flat, muscular plains of Ed's back and waist as if they were the most scintillating mysteries of the world. Soft flesh and the sharper bite of fingernails were enough to make Ed match Roy's movements, and he slipped his palm beneath the soft cotton shielding Roy's body from view, exploring the hidden world beneath.

One finger found the smooth bud of Roy's nipple amidst the expanse of his chest, and Ed hummed happily as Roy's body jerked, a hoarse sound catching in his throat. With a wicked glint in his eyes, Ed repeated the motion, amazed that Roy could be like this for him, not just unguarded, but revelling in the exposure. It was a powerful feeling, and he could lose himself in it for hours, watching this man fall apart and putting him back together again.

Unfortunately, Roy had other ideas. There was barely time to gasp a breath before Ed found himself pinned under Roy's weight, laid back on the comfortable mattress and struggling not to simply arch up into Roy's warmth above him. Their legs were tangled together, their hips cinched, and Ed was already grinding before he could stop himself, head thrown back as Roy's lips burned a trail down his throat

'God, you're perfect,' Roy murmured, his breath hissing through his teeth as Ed shifted maddeningly against him, casting cool zephyrs across the dampness at Ed's pulse and making him tremble. Roy was teasing him with tender little bites and kisses, his fingers tracing the edges of vest and underwear but not plunging underneath. Ed made a rough, threatening noise in the back of his throat, his hands twisting in Roy's t-shirt before he loosened his grip and skimmed his palm down Roy's stomach.

'Tease,' he growled, a grin spreading across his lips as he charted one brave, bold line down Roy's body, too quick for Roy's mind to catch up. He felt the twitch of muscles and the scatter of hair there before he slipped beneath Roy's boxers and curved his fingers around the hard, heavy flesh trapped in those confines.

Ed's entire body pulsed at the noise Roy made: a coarse, moaning curse that sounded more like a prayer to Ed's ears. All that grace and that fierce, cruel, teasing touch fell apart as Roy's world focused right down to a single point of contact. Ed stretched up, biting at Roy's parted lips as he shifted his fingers, stroking from base to tip and back again as he adjusted the pressure and speed, finding just the right combination to make Roy's hips jerk into his palm, mindlessly seeking out the friction that Ed had to offer.

Ed moaned as Roy returned the favour, wrapping around his length as Ed's voice keened in his throat. He could not remember the last time he had been this turned on by someone just touching him, although there was more to this than just a trace of physical contact. Roy's body was hot and heavy over his, a constant presence that made every nerve quake with excitement. Their tongues tangled in a clumsy, ecstatic exchange, and Ed could feel the heat rolling through his body, pooling all-too quickly between his legs as his shaky control began to dissipate.

'I'm – I’m not going to last long if you –' Ed's words were cut off by another kiss, and he moaned into Roy's mouth, trying desperately not to come undone so easily, but Roy's next whispered words were almost too much.

'Let go, please. I want to see you.'

Ed's head fell back against the pillow, his back arching helplessly as his grip around Roy became more faltering, the steady rhythm unravelling as his mind scattered before the sensations flooding his body. Heat coiled between his legs as tension pooled at the base of his spine, and he gave a wordless shout as he came apart.

White bloomed across his vision, blinding and bright as his climax swamped through him, cutting off his words in a cry of pleasure that only intensified as he felt Roy follow. His body was locked in beautiful lines of tension as hot fluid splashed over Ed's fist and they were left, tangled and trembling in the aftermath.

Steadily, Ed came back down to earth, feeling his heart's thundering pace slow as the hazy, sleepy warmth of satisfaction rolled through his body. He could feel Roy gradually getting his breath back, and one glance had Ed grinning like a cat. Who knew all that perfectly pale skin could flush like that? Roy had gone from cool and untouchable to hot and rumpled, and Ed couldn't stop the satisfied smirk at the fact that he had been the one responsible.

'Fuck,' Roy whispered reverently, his arms shaking with the effort of holding his own weight away from Ed's body. He collapsed with a faint grunt as Ed knocked his elbow out from under him, revelling in the solid burden of Roy's body. 'That was …'

'Fantastic,' Ed purred in response, nudging at Roy's jaw and catching his lips in a long, slow, steady kiss.

They were both sticky with come, although their underwear had caught most of the mess. In fact both of them were a bit overdressed for what they had just done, and Ed plucked at the hem of Roy's t-shirt in irritation. More than anything, he wanted to feel Roy's skin against his own, unimpeded by anything else. Right now, the last thing on his mind was the world beyond this room, and he trembled as Roy changed the angle, deepening the kiss with tender hunger.

The shrill shriek of the alarm shattered the peace, and they both jerked apart to glare at the offending time-piece. Its black hands rested over seven in the morning, and the indignant chime of the bells cut through the air without remorse until Roy finally shifted. The absence of his weight across Ed's chest left him feeling bereft, and he bit back a miserable groan as Roy silenced the clock.

'Does that mean we've got to get up?' he asked, snorting with laughter despite himself at the petulant tilt of Roy's mouth. At least he wasn't the only one who didn't want to face the day.

'Five more minutes,' Roy stated, sprawling over Ed again and nuzzling into the warm, sweat-damp crook of Ed's neck. He lapped at the salty skin, making Ed twitch and growl. It was perfectly, utterly tempting to shut his eyes and lose himself in Roy all over again. He could see how it would go in his head: lethargic caresses growing hotter and more wanton as the morning slipped away.

He wanted that, wanted to feel Roy in him, driving him back to the pinnacle of pleasure, but as much as the thought made the coals of Ed desire spark and glow, he knew it was not something he should rush. Even now he could barely keep his hands off Roy's body, stroking over his back and tracing his thumbs along the sharp lines of his hip bones, but as much as he hated it, he knew they couldn't stay here forever.

Jerking his shoulder, he butted gently at Roy's temple, trying to wriggle out from under Roy's weight and only getting caught in Roy's arms instead. 'Hey, come on,' he urged. 'We have to get to work.' He ducked his head, catching Roy's earlobe gently between his teeth for a moment before adding with a grin. 'My boss is an arse if I'm late.'

Roy opened one eye, dark blue and drowsy as he managed a lazy shrug of his shoulders. 'I'm now trying to remember the last time you were actually on time for something.' He smirked at Ed's irritated growl. 'Maybe I'll be lenient,' he mused, his grip tightening on Ed's hip as his words became a purr. 'After all, you've got a good excuse.'

Ed grinned, shaking his head. 'Somehow I don't think Hawkeye would agree with you, and she's the one you've got to convince to forgive you if _you_ show up late.' He watched the wicked grin on Roy's lips switch to a grimace, and he knew he had found the sticking point. However they looked at it, Roy had responsibilities and they could not be ignored, no matter how much they both wanted to.

The tickle of Roy's sigh brushed across Ed's skin, and Ed nuzzled at his jaw as he finally shifted, sitting back on his heels as Ed propped himself up on his elbows. 'I'd stay in bed with you all day if I could,' he murmured, hating how vulnerable the comment made him feel. However, it was worth it to see the grateful smile tilt Roy's lips and the warmth flare in those eyes.

'Believe me,' Roy replied, his voice husky and low, 'If I had a choice, I wouldn't be going anywhere.' He leant forward, giving Ed a long, deep, promising kiss that sent renewed heat flaring across Ed's skin and all the way down to his toes. 'Unfortunately, the world doesn't work that way.'

Ed nodded in understanding, seeing exactly what Roy was getting at. No matter what they wished to the contrary, the military would always have a place in their relationship. There were times when Roy's duty was going to come first, and Ed knew there was no fighting that.

'I'd offer to share the shower,' Roy murmured, 'but –'

'But then we really would be late,' Ed finished for him with a quick, feral grin. 'Just don't take too long. I need it too.'

He watched Roy retreat regretfully to the bathroom with admiring eyes, allowing himself a moment to appreciate the long lines of Roy's form before he vanished from sight. He hadn't even had a chance to see the bastard naked yet, and Ed wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed or smug that they had both been brought to orgasm so easily by the other's touch. That hadn't happened with any other lover he'd had, but he would be an idiot for thinking that Roy wasn't different.

Was this what it would always be like between them, so easy and natural, but keen and desperate all at once? With anyone else, it always seemed clumsy, especially in the aftermath, but Roy had made Ed feel almost graceful in his undoing with nothing but admiration and amazement in his gaze, as if he couldn't believe his luck at having Ed in his bed, hot and willing.

As if he would ever be anything else for Roy Mustang.

The image of Roy coming in Ed's hand flashed across his mind, and desire clenched anew in Ed's stomach. He could barely believe that Roy had lost control like that, and all for him. Roy, who lived for his masks and machinations and was so very careful about who he let into his life. Yet he had lost all pretence of deceit long ago, at least where Ed was concerned. Roy trusted him, even at his most vulnerable and intimate, and Ed knew without hesitation that the reverse was true. It was almost frightening to have such faith in someone else, but at the same time, Ed couldn't remember the last time when he had felt quite so safe.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, lost in his thoughts, but eventually he knew he had to move. With a quiet groan of regret, Ed swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He couldn't stay too long in the passion wrecked sheets, or he really would lose all will to leave. Standing up, he rubbed quickly at the dull, sulky ache that bloomed at his temple. It was far more mild than whatever had assaulted him yesterday, but it was a potent reminder that, beyond the horizon of the bed, there was a world of problems waiting for him: Foster, Clarke, alchemy and the Gate.

Bending down, he scooped up his leather pants and the white shirt he had been wearing to hide his arms from sight. His boxers and vest would need a wash, but at least he had spares in his locker at Central command, and he could do without until he got them. He'd suffered far more uncomfortable clothing issues on assignments.

'Bathroom's free,' Roy called, approaching the bedroom door with only a towel slung low around his hips. 'There are towels and a spare toothbrush on the side.'

Ed managed to drag his gaze away from the damp, pale expanse of Roy's bare chest and tried to ignore burn of temptation that lingered beneath his skin. The bed was a heavy presence behind him, and all Ed wanted was to grab Roy's hand and drag them both back into its warm depths.

As if reading his mind, Roy reached out, cupping Ed's cheek in his palm and nuzzling softly at his neck, pressing a kiss over his thudding pulse. 'The last thing I want to do is step outside and leave this behind,' Roy murmured. 'I hate that I can't touch you outside these walls. All I can do is promise you that there's always a place for you here, with me, if you want it.'

He could hear the nervousness in Roy's voice and see the fear in his eyes. If someone had told him a month ago that he'd be standing here with Roy practically asking him to move in, he would have called them a fool. He knew how much Roy respected his privacy, and he had never heard a whisper of anyone else being invited to share Mustang’s sanctuary. Roy held them all at a distance, but as different as all this was for Ed, he was beginning to see it was new for Roy as well.

'That your way of asking me to come back here with you tonight?'

'And any other night you want. Please?' Roy smiled, but it was still faint with uncertainty, and it only bloomed properly when Ed nodded, stretching up on his toes to nip gently at Roy's bottom lip before tracing the soft, swollen flesh with his tongue. His body arched eagerly into Roy's warmth, and he could feel the lingering dampnesses from Roy's shower soaking into his vest, but his mind was too busy, too lost in the rush of desire and something infinitely more tender that threatened to swell beneath his ribs.

The chime of the half hour from one of the clocks in the city broke them apart, and Ed closed his eyes in brief irritation. Nothing he could do would stop the flow of time, and he huffed out a sigh before meeting Roy's darkened gaze. He wanted to say thank you, to show his relief that Roy was eager to make sure that this – whatever they had – would continue beyond the morning’s light, but the words felt clumsy and awkward on his lips. Instead, he caught Roy's hand in his grasp, briefly twining their fingers together and squeezing tight, feeling his heart thump as the gesture was returned.

'Go on,' Roy urged gently. 'Shower. Breakfast will be waiting by the time you're done.'

Reluctantly, Ed did as he was told, forcing his feet to move away from the sheltered sanctuary of the bedroom. The rich carpet whispered under the bare soles of his feet as he padded out into the hallway, and the cool, damp tiles of the bathroom made his toes curl as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Steam still lingered from Roy's shower, and Ed felt it catch in his throat as he drew in a shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his face. It was painfully easy, when in Roy's arms, to forget about everything else, but a few paces of distance were all it took for the deluge of questions and concerns to overwhelm him once more.

The shit with the labs, Foster and the explosion on base was enough to deal with on its own without the Gate making its presence known, but now Ed's head was heavy with the weight of awareness. He found himself fumbling with the taps, flicking on the hot spray and stepping underneath in a vain effort to wash away the burden of his thoughts.

It would help if the fucking thing didn't talk in riddles. Couldn't it ever just tell him something straight? He had been told to claim what was his, that much he could remember, but the second image he had seen, the one when the light had gone out, was nothing but a faint impression in his memory: green and steel, Foster's whispering voice...

A shiver worked its way through his frame, and he turned the temperature of the water up as he reached for shampoo and soap, washing his hair and rinsing away the sticky evidence of the pleasure he had shared with Roy. The fresh memory of that, at least, was enough to bring a smile to his face, lifting the uncertain balance of his darkening mood. What they had wasn't just a quick fumble – a flash of desire that snuffed out with the dawn. Roy had made that more than clear with his murmured request. He wanted Ed in his life, not just for one more night, but for as long as Ed wanted.

The smile on Ed's lips flourished into a grin, and he let out a huff of a sigh, dragging one hand across the nape of his neck as he rinsed the last of the suds from his body. Last night, Roy had shown how good he was at holding everything together – at stopping Ed from falling apart when life chose to slam him down as hard as ever – and for once, Ed was more than happy to accept the help he offered and do what he could in return.

Outside the four walls of this house, the turbulent world was waiting for them. Sooner or later, something would shift, and the unsteady, impatient stalemate they found themselves in would fall to pieces. When that time came, Ed would be ready. Together, he and Roy would put things right.

They'd done it before, and they could do it again.


	19. Chapter 19

Roy leaned back in the chair behind his desk, doing his best to stop the corners of his lips tilting up in a blissful smile. He had not had the best night's sleep, but honestly, he wouldn't have traded what happened this morning for anything in the world. Part of him felt he should be embarrassed at his lack of control. He had spent many years as a young adult learning the skills of a lover, but it seemed Ed had other ideas. He encouraged Roy just to let go, and that release was almost as blinding as their shared climax.

Now, it was hard not to resent this office and the baleful edifice of the military for intruding. He longed to be back in his bed with Ed at his side, learning the lines and hidden depths of his body, but there was no such luxury to be found. Instead he was sitting here, slogging through meaningless paperwork and stuck in a useless waiting game.

Worse, if he did not manage to wipe the smug grin off his face soon, his men would start to get suspicious. Hawkeye, who was in the office before him, as always, had already given him a long, measured look. He had no idea if the lieutenant knew who he'd shared his bed with, but to be honest, he wouldn't put anything past her. Hawkeye was sharp, and Roy knew it wouldn't be long before all his men started putting the pieces together, if they hadn't already. At least he could be sure of their discretion, but it still made his stomach thrill with faint nerves.

What he and Ed shared was painfully new, tentatively flourishing in an atmosphere of challenge and stress, and Roy couldn't help the doubts that soared through his mind. When all this was over, would their relationship still be as strong, or would it fail once the adversity was gone? Would it fall apart once normality returned, and the uncertainty abated?

Roy shook his head to himself, scowling at the report in front of him and not seeing a word. Borrowing trouble would not do him any good. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, let alone a month from now. He was happy to take whatever Ed had to offer, and give him as much as possible in return for as long as he was able.

'Don't you look cheerful.' Hughes sarcasm was gentle and teasing, and Roy lifted his head to see his friend wander through the office door, leaving it open in his wake. He looked slightly more refreshed this morning, better than he had since the death of one of his men in the jail, and Roy gave a wry grin.

'I'm fine,' he said quickly, well-aware that his smug smile had utterly vanished beneath the weight of his concerns. 'Just wishing we could make some progress on this mess.' He waved a hand, indicating far more than just the reports strewn across his desk. 'Do you have anything for me?'

Hughes went and settled on the couch, tapping his thumb on the sound monitor and watching the needle twitch. He didn't say a word until Roy got to his feet and joined him, one eyebrow raised curiously.

'Thought you might want to know that Clarke's not been seen since the day he took Foster into custody.' Hughes scrubbed a hand over his jaw, his green eyes thoughtful. 'I've been asking some quiet questions around headquarters, but no one seems to have any information.'

'That could be because everything's a mess right now. Too many injured, too much confusion; it's easy to lose yourself in that, even if you are a general.' Roy scowled, puzzling through his thoughts. 'You think the Fuhrer would have kept tabs on him, though.'

'It could be he knows where Clarke is, but there's something going on there, and they're keeping us in the dark.' Hughes scratched the back of his head, a nervous gesture Roy had seen him use many times before. 'I had my men check Clarke's office last night, quietly of course.'

'Did you find anything?' If he were speaking to anyone else, he would have winced at the blatant hope in his own voice, but he knew Hughes too well for that.

'It's what they didn't find that's more curious. Take a look at these.' He handed over some squares of glossy paper, and Roy frowned down at the photos. They were taken with a small device, probably meant for espionage, but the impression they gave was clear. Clarke's office was much like Roy's own, but bigger. However, where the desks in the outer office of Roy's were cluttered with paperwork, plants and coffee mugs, the ones in Clarke’s were mostly empty with only one or two neatly lined up pens on their surfaces, and a thin layer of dust that showed up grey in the photos.

'I thought he had about a dozen men under in his command?' Roy asked, confused.

'A quick dig in records shows that, last year, he did. They've been slowly transferred out to other departments.' Hughes wrinkled his nose in doubt. 'It seems innocent enough, and I got the chance to talk to one of them before I came here. Lieutenant Sollen said that Clarke simply didn't need that many subordinates. The burden of command was particularly light on his shoulders.'

'Spared from paperwork by the Fuhrer?'

'Possibly, but was that just because of his boot-licking, or did he have something bigger to be working on? Something secret?' Hughes lifted one shoulder. 'By the time of the explosion, he only had two aides left. More to the point, they were the ones who had been in his command the longest. Both more than a decade.'

Roy huffed out a laugh. Perhaps to anyone else, that didn't seem particularly damning, but to someone in command it spoke volumes. 'They were his most trusted. Probably knew too much to be let go anyway. They're either with him, or...'

'Dead.' Now Hughes' voice was stone grim, and he handed Roy another batch of paperwork, this time from the coroner. 'Both casualties in the explosion. They were close to the bomb that went off in the main building. Not much left of them but a few chunks and a couple of teeth.'

'Not faked?' Roy asked, just to make sure, but a quick glance at the coroner's photographs was enough to destroy that notion. 'I suppose it's too much to hope that they were there by coincidence?'

The look on Hughes' face said it all. They might not have anything to prove that Clarke was responsible for any wrong-doing, but both he and Roy had been in the military too long not to listen to their instincts. The chances were that Clarke had deliberately ordered the last two under his command close to the location of the bomb, and that meant he had known where it was. 'For all we know, he put it there himself.'

'Can't imagine him getting his hands dirty,' Roy pointed out. 'Clarke's a lot of things, but he's not an idiot. Whatever he is doing, he's going to try and come out of it smelling of roses.'

'Well, there was nothing in his inner office, either,' Hughes pointed out. 'Nothing incriminating except the fact it was almost completely empty: no personal effects, no books, no paper work. It looked like he'd just cleared out his desk.'

'He doesn't have any intention of coming back to that office,' Roy murmured, skimming the image with a knowledgeable gaze, 'But does that mean he's leaving the military behind entirely, or he's after something else? The Fuhrer's job, maybe.' He plucked at the edge of the paper with his finger, wishing he knew Clarke better. Perhaps then he would be able to guess his motivation. Every whispering instinct Roy had was telling him that this was some kind of coup. Foster was one part of a bigger whole, and Clarke was at the centre of that nest of vipers, but where did Hakuro fit in?

'Thank you,' he said earnestly, meeting Hughes' gaze with a twitch of a smile. 'This is more than we had yesterday, but there's still a lot left unanswered. Try talking to the men who moved departments, but do it quietly. Just because Clarke is gone doesn't mean his spies have left. Some of them might still be reporting back to him.'

'We'd be stupid to think that those under his command were the only ones he's connected with,' Hughes pointed out. 'I wasn't joking when I told Ed Clarke had clever people working for him a couple of days ago, but I'm beginning to realise I was looking in the wrong place. He'll have a support network somewhere within the military, something without an obvious connection to himself. We need to be careful.'

'Work that angle, then. We'll keep trying to see what we can find out about where Clarke took Foster. I refuse to believe he has just disappeared.' Roy steepled his fingers in front of his face, wishing he could feel truly grateful for the progress, rather than resent all that remained unknown.

A sudden yelp of pain from the outer office had Roy leaping to his feet. Images of Ed doubled over and clutching at his head sprung back into his mind, but when he looked around the door he found Fuery frowning at his own hand, waving it fitfully to get cool air breezing over a small burn on his knuckle. A faint, embarrassed blush was cresting his cheekbones, and he looked apologetic at Roy's concern.

'Sorry, I burnt myself.' He gestured to the coffee pot, still empty of water where it sat by the dilapidated kettle the office used. 'I could have sworn it was cold when I put the grounds in.'

A quick glance showed Roy that Ed was not in the room, but he would bet he wasn't far away. Sure enough, a few heartbeats later Ed shoved his way through the door, deep in conversation with Al. The younger Elric was hovering at Ed's shoulder, his lips pressed tight and his expression pinched with concern.

'I'm telling you, I'm fine.' Ed sighed, and Roy got the impression that Al had been vocal in his concern.

'And I'm telling you, the Gate doesn't let people walk away “fine”, Brother. You know that!'

'If it was a dream, then he wasn't really there.' Winry's voice was firmly reassuring, and she smiled a faint apology at Hawkeye as she put what looked like a sizeable tool-kit down on her desk. 'Unless I'm missing something?'

Ed glanced across at Roy, and he knew they were both thinking of the sand still stuck to his brow when he awoke. Sometimes, and especially with the Gate, the line between reality and imagination blurred. Roy wasn't sure just how much Ed had explained, but the look on Al's face suggested he'd said enough.

'Winry's right,' Ed said flatly, waving a dismissive hand as he reached for the coffee pot Fuery had just filled and poured himself a mug. 'It wasn't the same as when we've been there before. Stop worrying, please?'

'Were you thinking of getting coffee on the way here?' Roy asked gently, keeping his tone light and curious. It wasn't enough though, because Ed narrowed his eyes suspiciously, pausing with his mug halfway to his mouth and glancing down at the steaming liquid.

'Yeah, just like everyone else in the entire building. Why?'

'Fuery burnt himself on the empty pot. It should have been cold, since no one's used it yet this morning.' He did his best not to make it sound like an accusation, but he saw Ed's face close down a little, and rolled his eyes as Ed shrugged.

'It's not bad,' Fuery replied. 'It just took me by surprise, that's all.'

'Get it looked at anyway,' Roy suggested, turning his back to the office and calling over his shoulder, 'and while you're at it, can you find Major Armstrong and ask him to come here? I need a word with him.'

With a sigh, Roy wandered back over to the couch, chewing absently on his bottom lip. He didn't care that Ed had been unable to consciously do anything to the fire last night, there was something going on. Objects kept heating up or cooling down in response to unconscious needs or emotions. The cocktail of hope and disappointment was making Ed ignore it, shrugging everything off as bizarre coincidence. Until he started taking it seriously, Ed wouldn't even begin to consider what was happening to him. It seemed obvious to Roy that the hole in the wall of Ed's dream last night was a tiny channel back to the Gate. He would bet anything that was the cause of the small changes they had seen, but alchemy with no arrays, without even a clap? Was Ed doing it with his mind alone?

'You going to tell me what that was about?' Hughes asked quietly, and Roy looked up in sharp surprise. He hadn't realised his friend was still there, and now Hughes' green eyes were intent – far too observant not to be reading the story on Roy's face.

Yet rather than give a direct answer, Roy frowned before asking, 'Has anything strange happened in your training sessions?'

Guilt flickered over Maes' expression like lightning, and he huffed a sigh as he fidgeted with the files in his hand. 'Is this about the cut on Ed's face? Because that was an accident.'

Roy shook his head quickly, waving his friend back to the couch. 'For God's sake, that's not what I meant. Though it shows how distracted you've been lately if you didn't notice the blade had been sharpened.' He watched Hughes with surprise, almost alarmed to see his friend so obviously worried. What did he think Roy was going to do, yell at him for injuring Ed? Throw a punch? 'I meant anything you couldn't explain. Things getting hotter, or colder or anything just … odd.'

The shake of Hughes' head was slow, but certain. 'No, and I'm pretty sure I would have noticed. Why are you asking?'

Scrubbing his hands across his face, Roy began to explain his suspicions. There was no point in trying to hide that Ed had been at his place last night from Hughes, and Roy tried his best to ignore the smug tilt of his friend's lips at the knowledge. However, the playful expression was quickly replaced by something more thoughtful, and by the time Roy was done, he was nodding in understanding.

'If it is Ed, then we need to know about it,' Hughes agreed. 'The situation with alchemists is tenuous enough; as much as I know Ed would never hurt anyone, we have to make sure this is something we can control.'

'The first step is getting Ed to believe it's happening at all. So far the only pattern I've distinguished is that he's not trying. It's as if the power is anticipating and meeting his needs, or reflecting his mood.'

'Like muscle memory.' Hughes grinned. 'You never really think about scratching an itch. Your brain tells you to scratch it without bothering to ask permission. If the same thing's happening to Ed and his alchemy, then he will be totally unaware of it.'

'And doubting it when other people point it out,' Roy added, looking up at the knock on the door. 'Come in.'

Alex stepped over the threshold, his broad shoulders only just fitting through as he saluted. 'You asked to see me, General?'

Roy smiled, gesturing him closer as he began to explain his plan. 'You two are ideally placed to try and get Ed to react defensively. Surprise him during training. Something – anything to make him react instinctively. There's a good chance his alchemy will respond to a defensive need.'

If Armstrong was confused by the instruction, he did not say anything, instead choosing to listen carefully as Hughes spoke up. 'And if he doesn't? I want Ed's alchemy back as much as anyone. He needs it. He's not himself without it, but are we sure this isn't all just coincidence, like he says? Or wishful thinking on our part?'

'If it had just happened once, I would ignore it,' Roy said firmly. 'But we can't afford that luxury. If it is Ed's doing then we all need to know, and if it's not him then we need to work out what else it might be.'

'We have a training session now,' Armstrong rumbled at last. 'I will do my best and inform you of anything that occurs.'

'Thank you.' Roy got to his feet, making to move back to his desk but keeping his voice low. 'So far, all the reactions have been simple and small, but be careful. I don't want anyone hurt by this.'

'And when Ed finds out what you're doing?' Hughes murmured as Alex made his way out of the door, his booming words loud in the office beyond. 'Do you really think it's a good idea to go behind his back like this?'

Roy sighed. He should have known his friend would pick up on the simple fear that had been circling his mind since he had made his request. He did not want Ed to feel like they were plotting against him, but there didn't seem to be any alternative. 'If I thought there was some way to get him to consciously transmute something, I would. I've already tried, but it's almost as if Ed thinking about it ends up blocking whatever's going on.' He settled back in the chair behind his desk. 'Maybe he won't catch on.'

It was a desperately frail hope. Ed was too intelligent to miss much, and Roy knew that, but he had to believe that his actions would pay off. It would be easier to soothe Ed's ruffled feathers if it turned out Roy was right.

'If you're sure...' Hughes let his dubious tones linger in the air as he turned away, closing the office door behind him and leaving Roy alone with his thoughts.

He wished he could pretend he was only thinking of Ed in this instance. After all, that was still his main concern. Watching Ed as he was, not exactly broken, but more crippled at times than he had ever been with the automail, was enough to make his heart sink. Still, Hughes was right. The atmosphere in the city was different than it had been a few months ago: more tense, more vicious, and the smallest thing could light a powder keg of anti-alchemist feeling.

Besides, if Ed's alchemy had changed – had taken on a new tilt to all that they knew about the ability – then Roy would bet anything the military would be all over it with deadly curiosity, much the same as if they realised he had lost his alchemy all together. They would want to know how and why, and they would not care much for the human frame which harboured the ability.

In the end, it was all about control. Except Roy was not some bland, uncaring face of the military. He wanted to put Ed firmly in charge of whatever was happening to him. He knew him well enough to know how much Ed needed that power over his own life. No one who knew the full extent of what Ed and Al had been through would think anything different. Even as a child, Ed had refused to be a victim of even the most brutal circumstances. He had taken action.

Roy tapped his pen on the desk, glancing at the clock and wondering how Armstrong's training session was going. More than once he caught himself listening out for a sound: a crackle or a bang, but the busy seethe of military life carried on unabated. He was sorely tempted to go and watch, but there was no way he could validate that intrusion. Ed would notice, and there was a good chance that would destroy any headway Alex had made.

No, in the end he had to trust Armstrong and Hughes to drive some kind of response out of Ed.

Slowly, time crept onwards, and Roy forced himself to focus on the ebb and flow of reports that made his way across his desk. Whenever he got time, he would glance over the photos Hughes had left, bending his will to the images and wishing they could spill forth the answers to all his questions. Unfortunately, their information was limited, a step in the road, rather than the whole story, and nothing Roy could do would change that.

At some point mid-morning, he scuffed his way into the outer office to get some coffee, grimacing when the pot was cold. Of course, he was a fire alchemist. Heating something was hardly a challenge, but stale coffee tasted vile, regardless of its temperature, and he grudgingly set about making himself some more, wary of any sudden changes that could herald Ed's return to the office.

'Sir, Major Armstrong just called,' Hawkeye informed him, a faint frown lingering on her brow. 'He asked me to inform you that Ed will be back within the next hour, but the experiment was unsuccessful.'

Roy grunted, huffing out an irritated breath. Of the two training sessions, Alex had stood a better chance of catching Ed off guard. He was closer, engrossed in hand-to-hand and far more capable of catching Ed out and backing him into a corner. Hughes would have a more tricky time of it, and Roy felt his hopes begin to flicker away.

'Experiment?'

The brief rash of alarm that raced down Roy's spine only abated slightly when he realised it was Al's softer tones, rather than Ed's scathing voice which framed the word. A quick glance showed he was over by Havoc, still helping with the knee high stacks of documents that needed filing away. Nearby, Winry had paused her work on something metallic and vicious look, her screwdriver motionless in her hand as she narrowed her eyes distrustfully at Roy.

'Is this to do with his alchemy?' Al kept the question light, but Roy was not about to underestimate his protective streak. Prevarication would possibly be fatal, and he took a gulp of coffee, buying himself some time before he gave a faint nod.

'We're trying to work out if perhaps he can still do some basic transmutation unconsciously. I asked Major Armstrong to try and make Ed as defensive as possible in the hopes he might react with his alchemy.' He kept his voice pitched low and relatively quiet. Hughes had promised the outer office wasn't bugged, but that didn't mean he wanted someone listening at the door to overhear what they were talking about. 'Unfortunately it doesn't seem that it's that simple.'

'I thought he couldn't do it any more?' Winry said quietly, frowning at Al when he looked a bit uncomfortable. 'I've not noticed anything. Have you?'

'There have been a couple of – weird things happening.' Al shrugged, waving one hand helplessly as he explained. 'Water freezing in the sink – that kind of thing. At first I wondered if maybe Foster messing with Ed had done something to the Gate, upset some kind of balance, but they only seem to happen when Ed's around.' He bit his lip guiltily. 'I didn't think it was him doing anything until he mentioned the dream.'

'The hole in the wall?' Roy asked, watching Al nod but noticing the hovering, hesitant confusion from the rest of the men. With a sigh, he realised that keeping this under wraps from his command was not only a waste of time, but potentially dangerous. If Ed did react to something with his alchemy in their presence, they needed to be prepared.

Quickly, he began to explain, starting with Hawkeye's observations at the bomb site, and including one or two of his own before telling them about Ed's dam theory. The only thing he did not detail too extensively was the circumstances surrounding Ed's so-called migraine and subsequent vision. His men only needed to know that something was amiss, not that Ed had collapsed in Roy’s living room and spent the night in his bed.

'We could still be completely wrong about this. There could be another cause for the ice, or the fire extinguishing itself, but this is the most logical explanation we have found so far.' Roy gulped down the rest of the coffee. 'Everyone needs to keep an eye on Edward. If you see any other strange occurrences, tell me immediately.' He grimaced as he set the mug aside, trying to calm the rush of his mind as he continued to speak. 'It would also be foolish of us to assume that this will stop at basic transmutations. Just be on your guard.'

'And be subtle.' Al shrugged at Roy's questioning look. 'I know Ed. If he's decided that the odd things happening are nothing to do with him, he'll be stubborn about it. That'll only get worse if he realises we're all watching him, waiting for him to make it happen again.'

Roy watched his men nod in agreement, feeling a faint surge of pride that they could all be so calm and understanding. There was no panic, no questions or doubts. Instead they all looked capable and competent, comrades looking out for one of their own. Perhaps it came from having an alchemist as a commanding officer, but Roy always thought his men were admirably adapted to meet the more bizarre challenges that occasionally came their way. He was lucky to have them – a thought which he had to cling to as Hawkeye handed him more reports and instructed him back to his desk.

Leaving his office door open, Roy bent to the task at hand, only looking up when he heard Ed's voice in the office beyond. His heart jumped like an over-eager puppy at the familiar sound, and a lingering trace of tension released its grip on Roy's body. Ed sounded relaxed, although Roy thought he picked up a trace of tiredness in those distant words. A bad night's sleep followed by a tough training session with Armstrong was probably taking its toll, and Roy listened with half an ear to the sounds coming from the next room.

Part of him wanted to leap up and march to Ed's side, chafing already at their short separation and desperate to seek out contact, but he squashed it down ruthlessly. Trust Ed to make him feel like a teenager again: needy and insecure. There was nothing that required him to leave his desk, and Roy forced himself to concentrate on the reports, reading and signing his name. At last, the groan of his stomach broke into the fugue of his tenuous concentration, and he pushed himself to his feet.

Havoc and Fuery had already headed off to lunch, while Hawkeye and Breda manned the office and waited their turn. Winry still sat at the spare desk, her hair caught up in a ponytail as she worked, but it was Ed and Al that caught Roy’s attention. The pair of them were leant over something on Fuery's desk, scraps of paper set down amidst the tangled wreck of an eviscerated radio, and they had matching, baffled frowns on their faces.

A quick glance over Ed's shoulder showed Roy the sketch he had done of the array on the warehouse floor, the one Ed had been pinned within like a butterfly to a board. Even now, Roy grimaced at the twisted wreck of the design. Foster had done a real number on it, and what they were left with seemed like only half the story. If anyone could get anything out of it, it would be one of the Elrics, but their silence did not fill him with hope.

Gently, he nudged Ed's shoulder, jerking a head towards the clock. 'Why don't you both come and get some lunch? Maybe it'll make more sense when you get back?'

Ed huffed a sigh, straightening up and rubbing his hand across the nape of his neck. 'Don't think there's much hope of that. Foster made sure we couldn't do a fucking thing with this.' He gestured to it with an irritated flick of his fingers. 'You searched his flat, didn't you? Was there nothing else in there? He couldn't put something like this together straight out of his head. It needed months of drafting.'

Roy thought of the ashtray and the smear of charcoal on the pavement below the window at Foster's Spartan apartment. 'If he did, then he burned the lot.'

The noise Ed made was a well-muffled growl. 'Course he did,' he muttered, the bitterness in his voice evident. 'Don't suppose you've figured out where Clarke took him?'

Roy let his expression speak for him, standing aside to let Al and Ed through the office door and into the corridor beyond before following them both. 'We're still trying, but there have been... complications.' He glanced around, noting the empty hallway before quickly filling Ed in on Clarke's vanishing act. 'Hughes is doing what he can, but these things take time.'

'It feels like that's the one thing we don't have,' Al murmured, giving a faint smile when Ed looked at him curiously. 'You've probably not been out in the city as much, but it's getting nasty. There's more graffiti every day, people are attacking alchemists' homes, and someone started a fire at the university last night. There's no official reason, but it could be because they have alchemical principles on the curriculum.'

'Fuck,' Ed muttered, voicing Roy's sentiment exactly. 'Is it all the same people doing it?'

'I don't know. The newspapers are full of rumours, but knowing what's fact and what they just made up to fill the page is almost impossible.' He sighed as they stepped into the canteen, gesturing at the soldiers eating there. 'Besides, it's not just out in the city that things have changed.'

Roy followed Al's gaze and could see what he meant. There were distinct divisions in the eaters. Smaller groups were pushed off to one side and glared at: alchemists and their friends or comrades. It did not take long for a them versus us mentality to flourish, and already the unity of the military was cracking under the weight of suspicion.

He was used to feeling faintly threatened around Central Command; he had ambitions after all, but the distrust in the atmosphere was not an intelligent, political thing. It was instinctive, like predator and prey, as if the soldiers had been taken down to the lowest common denominator of humanity, and Roy found himself wondering if he should take off his gloves.

Quickly, he shook the thought aside. Everyone inside headquarters knew who the alchemists were. Even if it wasn't for word of mouth, the watch chains alone were enough of a clue. He could only hope that this was as bad as it would get. Dark looks and muttered voices were uncomfortable, but relatively safe, yet Roy knew it was the peak of a precipice, and the fall into anarchy would be quick and brutal, if it ever came.

'Be very careful,' Roy murmured, pitching his voice so that Ed and Al were the only ones who could hear him. 'If anyone picks a fight with either of you, here or in the city, for God's sake walk away.' That was more to Ed, who was far more likely to take the route of quick retribution than Al. 'Wars can start with a single punch.'

A flicker of movement caught his attention, and he walked calmly towards where Hughes sat, keeping half an ear on what was being said around them. No one was likely to insult a general, not if they had any sense left, and Roy was very aware of the conversation dying as soon as he got within earshot. It wasn't just the trouble-makers crying out against the alchemists any more. The instigators had stirred up too many questions; they had made people stop and think, and now the air almost crackled with frightened uncertainty.

'Here, eat these,' Hughes said, nudging a few plates of sandwiches towards them. 'Save you standing in the queue.'

'It feels like they might not serve us even if we did,' Al pointed out, his head ducked and his shoulders rounded. 'Has something happened? Something since we came in this morning?'

Hughes shook his head, chewing his meal thoughtfully. 'The atmosphere is tense, and it's always going to be worse when you shove a lot of people in one space.' He waved a hand around the canteen, which could easily fit hundreds of men inside. 'Think of this as an extreme view of what it's really like.'

'If feels like all that people need is an excuse for violence,' Roy murmured, his mind rushing over worst case scenarios. 'It might be worth considering that, at some point, it's not going to be safe for me or my men to be in headquarters.'

'Or anyone associated with you.' Hughes nodded, letting out a sigh at the thought. 'I'll try and prepare a contingency plan, but let's hope it doesn't come to that. I want to think that the Fuhrer would stop any fighting within the ranks, but there's been no statement from his office. He seems to think it's business as usual.'

'Probably thinks it'll go away by itself.' Ed took a huge bite of his sandwich, chewing it with a frown on his face before swallowing. 'The only way any of this is going to get better is if the people who blew up headquarters are found. No one's to be getting far with that; seems like we're the only ones trying.'

'And every lead we turn up is a dead end.' The heaviness in Hughes' voice spoke of too many hours of frustration, a condition they all shared. 'I was so sure that the address from the jail would give us a clue, but Amery Street is another false trail. There's nothing there.'

Ed's sudden stillness snatched at Roy's attention, and he watched something bright and triumphant flash in those gold eyes. 'Amery?' he repeated, dumping the last bite of his sandwich on his plate and getting to his feet. 'You sure that was the address?'

'Yes,' Hughes said slowly, confidence growing in his expression as he gave a firm nod. 'I checked variations in case I had mis-read the handwriting, but there's nowhere else that matches. Not even close. Where are you going?'

Ed didn't answer, and Roy shrugged at Hughes' baffled look, abandoning his lunch and hurrying after Ed's retreating back. He was aware of Hughes and Alphonse close on his heels, their footsteps hurried as they darted back through the crowd and out into the corridor.

It took a few quick strides to catch up with Ed, who glanced over with a half-grin.

'Are you going to share your revelation with the rest of us?' Roy asked, a smile tugging at his lips at Ed's animation. It was as if the veil of helplessness had been torn away, and Ed's expression was bright and feral with the need to move.

'The part of that dream or vision or whatever it was that I couldn't remember? It was the park. There was something there with "Amery" written on it, and Foster's voice.' Ed shrugged. 'Maybe there aren't any houses any more, but that doesn't mean the bastard's not there somewhere.'

'He's unlikely to be hiding up a tree, Brother,' Al pointed out, sighing when Ed gave him the finger.

'It's a well-kept park: open lawns, one or two saplings, nowhere to lay low,' Hughes added. 'I wish I could tell you something different, Ed, but I can't.'

Ed rolled his eyes, as if they were all being deliberately obtuse. 'Look, you said there used to be houses there a few years ago, right?' He waited for Hughes' hesitant nod before continuing, 'How old were they? Did they have cellars?'

'Old worker's cottages, so probably not. The foundations were dug out and the park chucked down on top.' Hughes scratched his head. 'It's a good idea, but there's nothing to indicate any buried rooms or anything.'

'Bet they didn't get rid of the sewer lines, though.' Ed grinned as Hughes arched a thoughtful eyebrow. 'The view through the hole in the wall wasn't very clear, but the metal thing looked like a manhole cover. They have the street names stamped on, right? Foster's voice was coming from underneath.' He looked over at Roy, head cocked to one side in an almost-challenge. 'It's not just the best lead we have, it's the only information we've got. Isn't it worth checking it out?'

Roy paused outside the office door, meeting Hughes' eye for a moment before nodding his head. 'If nothing else, it's another avenue we can rule out. Besides, if we can find Foster or Clarke, there's a good chance we can nip all this in the bud. I'm not going to pass up the chance to end it before it's begun.' He shouldered open the door and called Hawkeye's name, beckoning her to follow. 'If we find anything, we'll call in for backup.'

Technically, Roy was aware that he did not need to lead the mission, but there was no way he was going to let Ed investigate on his own, or even just with Alphonse. If they did find anything worth pursuing, there was a good chance neither of them wait for help. They'd bolt down into the sewers and Roy would be none the wiser. No, he was not about to be left on the side lines. Besides, the very thought of going back to his desk to sit and wait was enough to make his skin crawl.

'I'll come with you. Might as well, since I know the way.' Hughes rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking thoughtful. 'It's not very far from here. As a hiding place, I'd say it was too close for comfort.' He appeared to be testing Ed's theory for holes, not out of malice, but purely out of practise. 'Of course, I suppose it's just one entrance. If Foster's down there, he could get anywhere in the city if he walked for long enough.'

'Are we assuming General Clarke never took him to a different high security facility?' Hawkeye asked, keeping her voice down as they strode back out through the corridors and down the steps to the parade ground.

'I doubt it,' Roy replied. 'Since neither Clarke or Foster have been seen since that day, I'm guessing they're together. Foster might still be a prisoner of sorts, but I doubt Clarke is acting with the military in mind.'

'I suppose it's too much to hope they might have killed each other?' Ed shrugged at Roy's faint smile. 'It would solve a lot of problems.'

It was only a half-joke, and Roy breathed out a sigh as he silently agreed with Ed's words. Part of him was desperate to believe that this was all a mis-understanding: that Clarke had not abandoned all sense of loyalty to the military and gone off after his own ends with Foster in tow, but he had too much experience of corrupt generals to really have faith. Even worse, beneath that surface of suspicion was a deeper fear, one where Hakuro was not ignorant, but aware, and condoned what was gearing up to be a full on war against the alchemists.

'This way,' Hughes called out, turning the corner up ahead and continuing his quick stride down the street. Morning traffic hummed along the road, and pedestrians ambled past, parting like the sea before the bright gleam of the blue and gold uniforms. Roy half expected scathing words and abuse, but these civilians merely watched them with curiosity, and perhaps a faint undertone of distrust. No one was vocal in their distaste yet, not here, and not in daylight.

Before long, the verdant banner of the park came into view. It was a token piece of green amidst the urban sprawl – one of the government's vague efforts at appeasing the masses. It was happening more and more, derelict buildings being torn down and turned into little oases of nature, but Roy could see what Hughes meant. Standing at the gates it was possible to see the entire boundary of the park. The velveteen of the lawn spread almost uninterrupted, bar a few flower beds and benches, and the trees were too new to be established: gangly, bendy things stretching up towards the light.

Yet one glance at Ed told Roy that they were on the right track. The expression on his face was painfully sharp – thoughtful to the extreme – and Roy could see the sweep of Ed's gaze jump from one point to the other, as if he were trying to fit the image in front of him with the same one from his dream. Within half a minute, he was walking forward along the brick path, artificially worn to look as if it had been here a century or more. A twinkling fountain suggested a water line, but so far there were no obvious signs of sewers or drains.

'Over here!' Al's shout brought them all running to where he stood in one corner of the park. There, set in the lawn and half overgrown was a broad, dark metal disc, and the word "Amery" was clearly stamped across its surface. Tiny vents in the metal pocked holes down into the darkness, and Ed bent down, pressing his ear to the surface in a desperate effort to pick up any trace of sound from beneath its blank face.

After a moment, he shook his head, his nose wrinkling in annoyance. 'I can hear water, but nothing else.' Idly, his gloved fingertips swept around the edge, and Roy saw the chips and grooves in the metalwork, recent and ragged. 'Someone's opened it up, though. With a crowbar or something, not a manhole pick.'

'Suggests they're not there for official maintenance,' Roy said, hunkering down at Ed's side and looking at the grass. 'There are scuffs in the lawn, too. Someone climbed in, and they were in a hurry.'

'Edward?' Hawkeye's voice rang softly across the park, and they looked up to see her by one of the flowerbeds with something metallic in her hands. It was a curved sheet, about the size of a matchbox, and as Hawkeye walked closer, Roy could see the edges were sharp and jagged, as if it were a shard of a bigger whole. 'Do you recognise this?'

He took it from Hawkeye's grasp, turning it over in the light. It was easy to see the brown patina of dried blood on its surface, but even through the discolouration, Roy could see that the piece of metal was worked, and part of a number was etched on the back. 'Another bit of Automail. A broken piece from the wrist.' He rubbed his thumb over the number on the back, ignoring the blood that marked his glove as he pointed out a pair of small, crude initials etched lightly into the surface. 'Winry always marks her parts. See?' He pointed out the "W.R" almost invisible unless you knew what you were looking for. 'I can't be sure if it's mine or not, but she'll know.'

'It's unlikely to be anyone else's, isn't it?' Hughes asked, shrugging his shoulders. 'We already know that bits of your Automail appear to have ended up in Foster. Whether they're falling out or it was pulled from him, it's not a desperate assumption that he's been here.'

'There's no blood,' Hawkeye pointed out. 'Not on the ground or around the manhole cover.'

'It rained last night,' Al replied, scuffing his boot over the damp grass in emphasis. 'Even dried blood will wash away if it's not in a sheltered place.'

Roy nodded his head, glancing around at his men before catching Hughes' eye. 'We need to open this up. Hawkeye, try and find a crowbar or something we can use. Hughes, call in to headquarters. See if we can get a map of the sewer system, and tell Havoc and the others to aim for the next manhole cover down the street. We'll meet up down below.'

It did not take long for Riza to return, a slim column of strong metal clutched in her hand. At Roy's impressed expression, she raised an eyebrow. 'The park has a warden who was kind enough to let me borrow this. I asked if he had seen anything unusual in the park at night, and he mentioned some blood a few days ago, quite fresh. He assumed it a cat killed a pigeon or something similar.'

'Good. We'll let him keep thinking that.' Holding out his hand, Roy accepted the manhole pick, slotting it neatly into the gaps and using its length to lever the heavy disc of metal aside. His muscles twanged with the effort, especially when Ed motioned for him to stop, the manhole cover at a forty five degree angle to the ground so that the underside was visible.

'Bloody fingerprints,' Ed said with a flash of a grin, smiling as Roy released his burden with a grunt. 'Not fresh, but probably not that old, either.'

Roy peered down into the circle of darkness, seeing a faint patch of sunlight on the distant floor. It looked damp and grim, and the faint smell of human waste and rot would only get worse when they descended. 'We'll stick together. We're looking for any signs of Foster, Clarke or anyone else suspicious, but be careful.'

'The others will meet us with the map,' Hughes said, jogging back from a nearby phone-box. 'We need to go right along the sewer and find a main junction. We'll find them there.'

'And if Foster is between us and them?' Ed asked, meeting Roy's gaze.

'Then with any luck, we'll have him surrounded.' Roy grimaced, shrugging his shoulders before he stepped down onto the metal rungs that led into the darkness. 'Though somehow I doubt it will be that simple.'

His boots sent out metallic whispers in the gloom as he inched down into the abyss, straining his ears for any sound to suggest they weren't alone. Only the faint trickle of water and the scamper of rats reached him, and he breathed a faint sigh of relief as his feet touched the ground. Instinctively, Roy snapped his fingers, shielding the feeble glow of the flame with his hand as he let it grow. Part of him was loathe to make a target of them with the light, but without it they would be lost in seconds.

After a few minutes, the bright circle of sunlight from above cut off as Hughes pulled the manhole clumsily closed behind him and descended to where the others were waiting. Hawkeye stood at Roy's shoulder with her gun drawn, her lips pressed into a thin, tense line as she surveyed her surroundings. Al was no less anxious. His eyes seemed huge in the darkness, and he was sticking to Ed's side like glue.

Belatedly, Roy wished he'd thought to arm Ed with something; even a knife would be better than nothing. As if reading the thought from his mind, Ed shifted his shirt, revealing a belt of sheaths wrapped close around his waist. Each one had a throwing knife inside, longer, though no less lethal, than Hughes' push knives. One was already out and in his hand, gleaming softly in the light from Roy's flame.

'This way,' Hughes whispered, his boots moving softly over the stone platform that separated them from a deep channel of foetid water. This place was far from clean. The ancient brickwork dripped and crumbled over their heads, while even the floor they walked on looked as if it had been flooded not long ago. Damp sediment festered there, and Roy raised an eyebrow as he saw the footprints ahead of them.

'More than two people came this way,' Hawkeye whispered, catching his eye and she gestured to the different tracks. 'Engineers work in pairs, as a rule.'

'Blood on the wall, too,' Ed said, pointing to a hand print. It was at about shoulder level, a few feet below the highest tide-line in the tunnel, and Roy could see the pattern repeating as if someone had been supporting their weight, limping maybe, back along the tunnel.

'Keep your eyes open,' he murmured, flexing his knuckles, ready to turn the simple flame into a vengeful inferno if he had to. 'Chances are they're long gone, but don't take any risks.'

They continued to creep along, the rotten air catching in Roy's throat as they moved. Shadows jumped and skittered across the wall, courtesy of the uncertain light in Roy's hand, and by the time they reached the junction where they were supposed to meet the rest of Roy's men, he felt like a guitar string wound to breaking point. His jaw ached from clenching it too hard, and the hairs on his neck stood to trembling attention.

There was no sign yet of Havoc and the others, and Roy let out a sigh as he realised they would have to wait. Here, at the branch of four other tunnels, it felt painfully exposed, and he found himself pressing his back to the foul wall, not caring about his uniform in his urge to find some security.

Minutes crept by in slow silence, interrupted only by the whisper of clothing as people shifted their weight. More than once Roy found his gaze drawn to Ed, who was treating each tunnel to a critical, piercing glare, as if he could force the shadows to give up their secrets just by looking. It was only when Ed began to move with more purpose that Roy spoke, his voice hissing through the air. 'Where are you going?'

'I just want to check something.'

'Fullmetal!' Roy gritted his teeth as Ed ignored him, casting a quick glance up at the access point high above their heads before turning to follow him. 'Wait here,' he ordered, his ears picking up the first graunch of the manhole cover being moved aside. 'Bring the others once they're all with you.'

'Roy...'

'Don't worry, Hughes,' he assured. 'I'm not going to let him go far. Besides, he can't do much without any light.'

With firm strides, Roy followed Ed's slow figure, moving up some steps into a tunnel on a slightly higher level. This was different from the others – dry for a start, and the stone was molded with a more modern look. 'It's a service route,' Roy pointed out, sighing as Ed rolled his eyes and pointed down to the dry floor. Droplets of dry blood made a trail of breadcrumbs here. There weren't many, as if the wound had slowed its efforts, but it was enough, and Roy scowled down at the stains before lifting his hand and casting his gaze more carefully around the passage.

It was square cut, taller than he was and wide enough to move men, tools and machinery with ease. There were barred gates pocking the side of the wall, and Roy peered through them into the tiny store-rooms beyond, mostly housing pick-axes and other detritus of the working man. Each was padlocked firmly against the world, with heavy bolts sunk into the walls, and Roy frowned, wondering at the security. Would people really come all the way down here to steal a shovel?

'Smell that?' Ed whispered from his shoulder, a frown furrowing his brow. So far, Roy had tried not to inhale the vile air too deeply, but now he did as requested, and caught the sharper edge of something like cigarette smoke ghosting on the air.

'Could be Havoc?' he whispered, not remotely convinced.

'He doesn't smoke on duty,' Ed replied, his body moving naturally into a defensive half-crouch as he crept forward, turning a corner and swearing in surprise.

One of the barred gates was blown off its hinges, the twisted, tortured metal jabbing like spears from its remains. A chair lay overturned, and a fresh blood splatter marked the wall behind the slumped corpse of a man. Not Clarke, and not Foster. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, though Roy couldn't tell much more considering that half his head was missing.

'It's still dripping,' Ed said in a flat, faintly distant voice. 'This didn't happen more than an hour ago.'

Something caught Roy's eye, glowing faintly off to his right, and his gaze fell to the small table. It was butted up against the wall so that whoever had been on the other side of the gate could clumsily reach out to it, and there, propped against the ash tray, was a cigarette burned almost entirely to ash. Grey fumes still whispered from its end, coiling upwards towards the ceiling, and Roy felt his skin turned cold. 'Less than that. Ten minutes at most.' He met Ed's gaze with his own as the shadows up ahead took on a darker, more threatening quality.

'Whoever did this is still here.'


	20. No Smoke Without Fire

Ed cocked his head to one side, trying to block out the heady scent of blood and cigarette smoke as he listened for hints of the killer's presence. Roy was right; he couldn't be far away, but all Ed could hear was the steady drip of water and the distant grind of the manhole cover sliding back into place as the last of Roy's men joined them in the sewer's darkness.

He eased his weight forward, muscles trembling with the unconscious thrill of the chase. Ed wanted to leap forward, to lunge through shadow and gloom until he could wrap his fingers around Foster's neck and choke him for all that he had done, but Roy's hand on his shoulder was a solid, warm weight holding him back.

'Stay,' Roy murmured, softening his command with a quiet, 'Please? We have no idea what's up ahead of us. We can't go charging off without backup. It's madness, and you know it.' The flame in his hand dimmed, becoming little more than a glow, and Ed absently noticed that it had lost some of its sick, green tinge, brought on by the rank air close to the sewer channel.

For a moment, Ed didn't answer. He was used to making up his own mind without asking someone else's permission, but now was not one of those times. At last a grunt caught in his throat, the only acknowledgement of Roy's request, and he forced his attention away from the waiting darkness ahead, looking right instead to the wrecked remains of the makeshift cell.

The glow of Roy's flame was minuscule, but it shed enough light for Ed to make out the broken glass of a lantern at his feet. Its fuel had not been spilled but the flame had gone out, and for a moment he paused before picking it up, holding it out meaningfully to Roy. For a minute, Ed thought he wouldn't light it. He could almost see the thoughts skimming over Roy’s eyes, but at last he flicked his fingers, sending a kitten lick of fire to the wick.

In the growing illumination, Ed took in the rest of the scene, seeing smudges of old blood on the walls and floor of the tiny prison. The acidic stench of bile made him wrinkle his nose; someone had probably thrown up in the bucket that stood, vile and wretched, in one corner. Scraps of metal – nuts, bolts and broken shards – gleamed like spilt coins on the concrete ground, but it was the shattered remains of the wooden stocks on the floor that made Ed pause.

'What the hell –?' Hughes' voice was soft and disgusted as Roy's men finally joined them, crowding into the small space and staring at the corpse of the guard slumped against the wall. The circles of their torches danced briefly before settling at their feet, as subtle as possible while still giving them something to see by.

'Foster did it,' Ed said, his voice firm. 'Looks like Clarke had him caged after all, but he got out. Not long ago, either.'

'We need to clear the passage. He could still be here.' That was Hawkeye's voice, as firmly rational as always, and Ed saw Roy nod before she, Havoc and Breda slipped forwards, their backs pressed to opposite walls of the corridor.

They moved with the well-oiled practice of people who had been working together for years, and Ed braced himself, waiting for the cry of alarm or flash of alchemy that announced Foster had been found.

Eventually, something clicked in the distance, and the torches vanished beneath the flood of harsh fluorescent light. Roy's men had reached the far end and were standing at a sealed door. A quick shove from Havoc's shoulder told them all they needed to know. It was bolted from the other side.

'All clear, sir, but we're not going to get through this door without help.'

'I can take care of that,' Al replied, flicking a brief, apologetic glance in Ed's direction. They were both remembering times when it had been Ed's job to tear down the barriers in their path, but now that was beyond his capabilities. 'Maybe we can still catch up with Foster.'

Falman cleared his throat, looking apologetic as he unfurled the roll of sewer blueprints that he had clutched under his arm. 'I don't think it's going to be that easy.' With agile fingers, he nudged the ashtray on the table to one side, sending the last grimy ghost of the cigarette crumbling to dust as he gestured to the outlines. 'While he might not have that much of a head-start, I'm afraid he'll be almost impossible to follow unless he's leaving a trail.

Ed looked over Falman's shoulder, swearing softly as he took in the labyrinthine tangle of tunnels and passageways etched out on the page. Some went down, like questing roots seeking fresh water while others stretched up towards the sunlight. Foster could have taken any of those routes, and Ed doubted he had left much in the way of solid tracks to follow. All the blood in the cell was too old, and none of it seemed to be a constant flow, not any more. Besides, even if the bastard was injured and limping, he probably had a twenty minute head start by now, and there was no way they could search every possible tunnel and catch up to him.

Glancing back at the cell, Ed took in the bits and pieces of metal littering the floor, his mind turning over the possibilities before he realised who was missing from their group. 'Where's Winry?'

'Back at your flat,' Breda replied. 'She was pretty vocal about coming with us, but we just sort of dumped her on the pavement and drove away.' He scratched the nape of his neck, looking embarrassed. 'I half expected her to follow us, actually.'

'Miss Rockbell is a civilian, and it's too dangerous down here,' Hawkeye added. 'The only reason you're not with her, Alphonse, is because we don't have time to take you back.'

Ed smirked at Al’s huff of annoyance, giving a faint shrug as his little brother shot him a dark look. Whatever Al thought, Hawkeye was right. Al was not officially in the army, and his years as Ed's shadow meant nothing except in terms of raw experience. Besides, it was different being made of flesh and bone than metal. Al was vulnerable, even if he did have his alchemy.

'Clarke had this place prepared for Foster, at least sort of,' Ed pointed out, gesturing to the bucket and the remains of the stocks. 'He was restrained to stop him clapping, but not held down anywhere in the cell.'

'How can you tell that?'

Ed answered Roy's question by lifting the lantern in his hand, throwing the twilight that lingered in the cell aside. The glow of the bulb overhead didn't reach that far, but he knew Roy could now see the scratches on the concrete wall, faintly bloody. 'Looks like he was trying to claw his way out. That and the cigarette. He could just reach it if he put the stocks against the bars. They were giving Foster some of what he wanted, but he was still a prisoner.'

'But this is a long way from an official military jail,' Roy pointed out, his expression shuttered as he gestured around them. 'Clarke wanted him hidden, not just from us, but from everyone else. Why?'

There was no answer to his question, and Ed could only shrug as he gestured to the door at the end of the corridor. 'If they were keeping Foster here under guard, then that means there must be a base nearby. It could be in a house above our heads or somewhere further on in the sewer, but we're not going to find out anything if we just stand here.'

'What about him?' Havoc asked, gesturing to the body with the barrel of his gun. 'What did that, anyway?'

'Alchemy.' Ed gave a faint look of apology as Havoc turned a slightly green shade of pale. 'Foster got his hands on him. It would have been quick.'

'And painful,' Al muttered, skirting around the pool of blood that was steadily turning tacky in the foetid air, careful not to step in it. 'If only for a few seconds.'

They moved on in silence, waiting patiently at the door as Al turned the bar on the other side to nothing but dust. There was a faint clank of the metal remains falling to the floor as he pushed the door inwards, and they were faced with another wave of darkness. 'Looks like there's only mains electricity for the service corridor,' Al whispered, moving aside at Ed's gentle push and letting Hawkeye, Havoc and Breda take point.

The torches found their reign once more, and the warmer light of Roy's flame and Ed's unshielded lantern joined the steady, sweeping circles of light. If anyone was down here waiting for them, they were lit up like the moon: an easy target. No one spoke, unwilling to draw further attention to their positions, but as they made their way down the stone stairs leading from the door, Ed could hear nothing to suggest they were anything but alone.

'Even if Foster's bleeding enough to leave a trail, we're not going to find it,' he complained, heaving a sigh as they found themselves at another junction. There were four tunnels, two of which yawned like the abyss itself, and another two that breathed with the faintest hint of fresh air. 'It's too dark.'

Something squelched beneath his boot, and he looked down at a thick ribbon of silty soil in the bottom of the junction, still wet and smelling of the river.

'Flood drain,' Falman supplied with a faint grin. 'It must be. It's not mentioned on the map, but look at the tide-line.' He pointed to the still-wet walls, and the mucky line on stone that showed where the water level had been only a day or so ago. 'Let's hope it doesn't rain while we're down here.'

Ed felt a grin flash across his face, bright and sharp, and he quickly grabbed Havoc's torch. The beam was stronger than the light given off by the lantern, and he swept it across the sodden ground, raising an eyebrow as two different collections of footprints emerged from the darkness. One, staggering and stumbling in desperation, was heading upwards, and Ed scowled as the trail quickly died off at the mouth of one of the tunnels, leaving nothing but cool stone behind.

'Foster?'

'Looks like it,' he replied, glancing over his shoulder at Roy. 'He's heading above ground.'

'Away from Clarke,' Roy added, gesturing to the other set of footprints. They belonged to more than one person, coming and going from one of the downwards tunnels. Different shoe sizes and treads told their own story, and Breda hunkered down, counting quickly under his breath. 'A dozen people, at least, though that probably includes the dead guard.'

'So we're outnumbered.' Al did not sound particularly afraid of that simple fact, but Ed felt him edge faintly closer to his side. 'Do we need to go back to Headquarters for more people?'

There was a moment of thoughtful silence before Roy shook his head. 'We won't find any help from Hakuro, not without some solid proof, and even then we'll be lucky. We don't have time to try and round up more men on the quiet.' He bit his lip for a second before reaching a decision and creeping forward, keeping out of the mud as much as possible, so that they wouldn't be given away by footprints. 'We'll investigate. For all we know, this is a nest for the homeless, rather than Clarke's base. Just – if it is Clarke – it's more important that we get out with some knowledge than bring him with us.'

'You think we should let him go?' Ed demanded.

'No, but I don't think he'll go anywhere without a fight. If this really is some kind of coup, then he'd rather be taken dead than alive, and he could take too much information with him. Come on.'

They fanned out, walking on the first faint slope of the tunnel walls to stay clear of the noisy, splashing puddles and loving squelch of the mud. The knife in Ed's right hand was a heavy, solid weight, but among the thoughts and theories charging through his mind, butterflies of doubt stirred their wings. Despite everything, he still felt like the weakest link in this chain: untrained and ill-prepared. Could he really defend himself if he had to?

A sharp shake of his head cast the thought away. Down that path lay disaster. He refused to allow himself to be distracted, not when every second required his absolute presence. It was too risky to get lost inside his own head, especially now.

The lantern in his left hand swung as he slithered along, and he hoped that the oil in the reservoir wouldn't slosh. The last thing he needed was a fire-bomb in his grasp.

'Turn the torches off,' he whispered suddenly, watching Roy's men look back at him in surprise. 'They don't have them, or they wouldn't be using these.' He gestured meaningfully with the object in his grip. 'Chances are anyone waiting at the other end will shoot at the beams, but they're used to flame light.'

'Do it,' Roy added, brightening the fire in his palm to cast them in a more hazy, natural glow. 'I'll take the front with Hawkeye and Havoc. Ed, you watch our backs.'

The urge to roll his eyes was almost impossible to ignore, but grudgingly, Ed did as he was told. Strategically, he could see the point. The others had guns and alchemy, whereas all he had were knives, and he wasn't skilled enough to neutralise a threat quickly. They were more likely to meet an attack than have one come up behind them, but that didn't mean he liked being relegated to the rear of the pack and left to watch the twitching shadows in their wake.

Every minute passed like an hour, tense beneath their footsteps. More than once Ed thought he saw something in the gloom behind them, but every time he fixed his gaze to get a better look, there was nothing to see. Al's warmth at his side was a reassuring presence, but that didn't stop his breaths from coming a little too sharp beneath his ribs, or the pricking of the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

'A flood door,' Falman whispered at last, gesturing to a solid metal blockade up ahead. 'It diverts the waters that way and leaves the space beyond dry.' His hand waved to the left, where even now Ed could hear the roar of a distant underground waterway. It was not the steady, stagnant flow of the sewers, but something far more feral, and he shivered at the thought of that much water filling the confined space in which they stood.

'Can we get it open?'' Roy asked, lifting his hand higher to cast more light on the area and the solid wheel in the door's centre that would make the whole thing watertight.

With a grunt, Breda stepped forward, applying his strength to the wheel. He expected it to be rusty and slow – they all did – and Ed jumped when it moved so easily that Breda almost lost his balance, only preventing himself from landing face first in the mud by hanging on tight to the metal valve. 'This is used frequently, not just one a month or so, but daily.'

'Let's hope no one is waiting for us on the other side,' Hughes said softly, pressing himself hard against the wall as Breda hauled on the heavy metal door, swinging it wide and letting them point their guns into the chamber beyond.

Ed could just make out the vague shape of makeshift beds, little more than nests on the floor, as well as a couple of rickety tables and tins of foods that gleamed cruelly in the little light they brought with them. A ladder, new and unblemished, shone like a beacon in the middle of the room, leading to a manhole cover overhead. Ed could see the dots of light that shone down through the vents, uninterrupted by any passing shadows.

'Think this is where Clarke's been hiding?' Hughes asked, glancing over at Roy with knowing eyes. 'Supplies, shelter... looks like he's been keeping more than one person down here.'

'Could be other soldiers,' Roy replied, nudging a pile of abandoned bedding with his toe and frowning at the civilian clothes piled up in one corner. 'Or perhaps not, although there's no reason to suspect any military loyal to Clarke would wear the uniform.'

'Not if they know they're acting outside the army's purview,' Hughes agreed, giving a quick shrug at Ed's puzzled expression. 'If people think the coup they are committing is righteous, like overthrowing Bradley, they wear their uniform, because they believe they're fighting for the good of the military, and they need the authority. I can't speak for Clarke, who might still be wearing his stars, but either the people helping him weren't military in the first place, or they know they're against the army, not for it. So no uniform.'

'I don't give a shit what they're wearing,' Ed muttered. 'I want to know what they were doing with Foster down here, and where the fucker is now.'

'See what you can find,' Roy ordered to his men in general, 'but be careful. If we can slip out of here undetected, then that's for the best.'

They moved like ghosts through the uncertain gloom, spreading out through the small chamber and riffling carefully through the detritus that made up the makeshift base. Instinctively, Ed headed for the desk, leaving the sordid, human junk to Roy's men as he set the lantern and knife down on the surface and began to sift through the notes, grunting in thanks as Al joined him. He was hoping for something alchemical amidst the disorder, but there was less in the way of circles, and far more about chemical equations.

Ed narrowed his eyes in thought, scanning formulae both basic and unfamiliar before glancing up at the heading on the paper and feeling his breath leave him in a rush. 'Mendleton Labs,' he said, seizing the stack of papers and fanning them in one hand. 'All of these are from the labs that Foster was hiding in, the one that made that drug.'

'What?' Roy glanced over Ed's shoulder, making sure to keep the naked flame in his hand well away from the paper as he skimmed the page. 'Take them. We'll give them to Bellamy and see what he makes of them. It could be harmless rubbish ...'

'Or it could be the formulae for the drug so he can make more,' Ed pointed out, looking up as Al lifted up a notebook.

'What about these? Those look biological, but this is completely different.'

Falman took the paper politely from Al's hand, flicking through the thin, scuffed pages with professional ease. 'Explosives,' he muttered, pausing on one page and turning it around. 'And I'm assuming that these arrays are dummies.'

Ed barely had to glance at them to agree. They were circles with scribbles in, designed to fool the idiot on the street. 'It looks like the one outside of headquarters when it blew up.'

At his ear, Roy let out a shaky breath of something like relief. 'Got them. I knew Clarke was in this up to his neck.'

Hughes cleared his throat, his green eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and frustration. 'Actually, Roy. There's nothing here to indicate Clarke's presence. Nothing like proof. Are there names on any of those documents?'

Ed and Al both began a feverish search, and Ed felt his brow fold into a scowl as he shook his head. 'Plenty of facts, but nothing else.'

'If we step forward with these and try to implicate Clarke, we could just as easily find the spotlight of blame on us. A team commanded by an alchemist, with additional alchemists under his control? No one's going to take that seriously without some serious evidence. We need to know who is living down here.'

'Breda, Havoc, go back to the corpse by the cells. Search his pockets. Look for anything to tell us who he might be,' Roy ordered. 'Even a name is better than –'

The brutal bark of a gunshot whisked through the room, and Ed swore as it hit the lantern on the desk. He lunged to one side as Roy's men instinctively dashed for the shadows, extinguishing torches as another bullet sent sparks spraying from the concrete.

The heavy, dull scent of oil cloyed in Ed's nose, and he cursed as he realised the lantern's reservoir had been hit. The flame had gone out, but all it took was one stray ember and the spreading pool would ignite. There was too much flammable stuff down here; paper, bedsheets, them ... and all around, the cold, hard sarcophagus of concrete.

It was too dark to make out Roy's men, pulled back as they were in the gloom. The tiny dots of light from the manhole cover in the centre of the room were the only hints of illumination, and they were no more bright than distant, ice-cold stars.

He knew from memory there was a door behind him leading to more tunnels, but any effort to escape was too much of a risk. You did not need to be a serious strategist to work that out. Narrow corridors made picking off targets easy. Here, at least, there was space to move, even if they couldn't see what they were meant to be aiming at.

He wished he could find Roy to warn him about the oil. Mustang relied on his alchemy first in situations like this, and his men were used to fighting under a bright banner of flame, but the spilt fuel added an extra, potentially fatal unknown.

Shifting his weight, he winced as something chimed softly against his foot, his breath catching in his throat as another bullet whipped through the darkness. He felt it fly past his face and thud into the desk, but there was barely time to breathe as Roy's men moved, reacting to the sound and opening fire in the right direction.

Keeping his head down, Ed groped around until he felt what had made the noise. It felt like a glass vial, corked at one end, and he quickly wrapped his fingers around it, slipping it into his pocket. Snatching a knife from the belt around his hips, he squinted into the darkness. Steadily, his eyes adjusted, and the blanket of night began to show some definition.

It was shadow on shadow, nothing more, but he thought he could see a body lying on the ground by the door. There were no groans of pain, so either it had lost consciousness or was dead, but was that the only one, or were there more? He could feel the sweat beading at his temple, running down the hollow of his cheek as the close quarters grew ever warmer and the fragrance of fear and adrenaline deepened.

This would be much easier if he were alone. Then he knew any faint movement was foe, rather than friend. Now, the room was littered with Roy's men, each taking their own cover, and the fear of taking one of them down in friendly fire was a painful paralytic.

A faint, metallic sound reached his ears, too muted for him to discern where it came from, but the sudden clang and bounce of a cannister hitting the ground was unmistakable: rattling like dice in a cup as it skittered to a halt not far from his left.

Grenade.

The explosion turned his vision white, searing across his eyes and sending a blast of volcanic heat through the air. He expected to be torn apart; heard the brief, horrified cry of someone nearby, but the pain never came. His eyes were shut, tears caught in his lashes, and instinct had thrown his hands up in a futile effort to block the flames, but nothing touched him. He could hear the roar of it in his ears and the unsteady tremble of the explosion vibrating through the soles of his boots, yet his skin was locked in a soft caress of humid warmth, rather than being stripped from his bones.

Someone swore, a bright, visceral string of curses that was cut off by the bark of gunfire. Roy's men were moving with practised ease, the barrels of their guns aimed down the tunnel and dancing with every shot fired, but Ed barely paid any attention. He was too busy staring at the sphere of energy in front of him and the fire-storm within. Orange and vermilion twisted and writhed in an exotic dance, feeding on the minimal air inside its prison. Around him, there were tiny flames, licking like kittens at the sheets and the oil on the floor, but they were subdued little things compared to the maelstrom in the ball of alchemy in front of him.

His alchemy.

He could feel it in his veins and filling his lungs like drug smoke: familiar and addictive. It felt as if a gauzy veil had been ripped away from his existence, exposing him to the caress of sunlight after a long, cold winter, and his body trembled in grateful relief. Despite himself and the danger of the situation, a smile tilted across Ed's lips. Looks like Roy had been right after all. There was still power in him, and he hadn't needed to draw an array. Hadn't even had to clap... It was just there, as natural and easy as breathing.

Pain was a sudden lightning bolt from the blue, searing across his mind just as the trapped flames ran out of oxygen and snuffed themselves to nothing. Like a light switch flicking off, the warmth vanished, leaving his head throbbing in time to his heart as he swayed on his feet. It was only Al who stopped him from collapsing to the ground, his strong arms wrapping around Ed's shoulders and bearing his weight as his jumbled questions fell on Ed's deaf ears.

The air tasted like hot metal and fumes with every breath, but he concentrated on it anyway, trying to drag himself back into focus. His eyes ached in their sockets like hot coals, and he slumped against the wall of the room, not caring about the soot that would mark his skin as he pressed his sweating face to the relatively cool stone and tried to smother a whimper in the back of his throat. Was this going to happen every time? Had he rediscovered the balm of his alchemy only to be held back from it by the agony of the consequences?

'Brother, can you hear me?' Al's tense voice cut through his fears, too high and frightened, and Ed dragged his eyes open, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples in an effort to control the pain. The lit torch Al carried in his hand was agonising to look at, and he narrowed his eyes, swallowing as he tried to speak.

'I'm here, Al.'

'We need to get you to fresh air. Whoever was shooting at us is on the run – well, those that are still alive. The general told me to get you out of here.'

Ed tried to shake his head, not wanting to leave Roy and the others down in the Byzantine tunnels of the sewer, but it felt like his neck had turned to granite and his muscles to water. He would be nothing but a liability, and there was no way he was going to let anyone get hurt because they were too busy taking care of him to look after themselves.

Al flicked on one of the torches, handing Ed another despite his agonised wince at the bright white light. 'Sorry,' he murmured. 'I'm going to open the manhole and see if it's safe. It's the quickest way to the surface...'

'And if it opens up in Clarke's basement?' Ed muttered around a knot of nausea in his throat. 'There's no way to be sure that whatever's up there is better than down here.'

'I'll be careful. Can you – do you think you can watch out for anyone coming while I get it open?'

Ed managed a nod that time, prying himself from the wall to lean weakly against the ladder. He hoped Foster suffered this much using the alchemy he stole, but somehow Ed doubted it. The fucker had looked fine last time he saw him, as long as you didn't count the insanity, but somehow it didn't seem fair – even with the added horror of the bits of automail that he appeared to shed like a snake losing its scales.

Blinking gritty eyes, Ed directed his torch over to the doorway that had led into the room. He could make out one body, blood pooling from a crack shot to the head, and the foot of the other. Neither of the men wore uniforms, but the guns that had dropped to the floor were military issue, and Ed grimaced at the fragment of information, unable to put it into adequate context as his head thrummed.

Abruptly, he remembered the documents he had been holding and glanced over at the desk. They were still there, slightly singed around the edges, but intact, and he grabbed them hastily, tucking them into the vest beneath his shirt as the grating of metal-on-metal filled the room.

Al was balanced at the top of the ladder, peering through the crack of the opening at their surroundings. Ed could see the stripe of sunlight on his face, and he braced his weight with a trembling hand on the ladder, watching as Al finally shoved the manhole cover aside. 'Safe,' he called down. 'Do you think you can climb up?'

'Well, it's not like you can carry me,' Ed muttered, narrowing his eyes against the light and casting an unsteady gaze around the room. Whatever other clues lay down here would have to wait. He did not have the strength to search in true light. He just hoped they had found enough to get some answers.

Clumsily, he coaxed his trembling muscles to obey him, creeping rung by rung up the ladder and towards the daylight. Its intensity made his eyes stream, even though clouds had drawn a slender white curtain across the sky, and he let out a groan of relief when Al reached down, grabbing his hand and hauling him up to lie, miserable and panting, on the green grass.

'Where are we?' he asked, not wanting to lift his head away from the cool, clean pillow of the lawn beneath his cheek. The scent was all that was stopping him from throwing up the few bites of sandwich he had eaten for lunch.

'A few blocks over from the park, but we can't stay here.' Al hunkered down at Ed's side, his shadow leaving a cooler patch of air against Ed's back. 'Can you move?'

'Can I have a minute?' Ed asked pitifully. His skull felt like a bass drum, thudding so loud he was amazed Al couldn't hear it.

'It's better if we don't.' To his credit, Al sounded honestly apologetic, but he knew what he was talking about. 'It makes sense that whoever was using the sewers has this manhole as their main entry. It's the shortest route to their base. Better if we're not found next to it, don't you think?'

Ed let out a shuddering breath, marshalling the tatters of his strength as he eased himself up to his hands and knees before finally finding his feet. It was just as bad as last night at Roy's, intense pain and a stream of sensory information that felt as if his brain had managed to get all its wires crossed. Everything was too much, but after a few uncertain seconds where he thought he would either fall down or thrown up all over Al's shoes, he managed to stagger weakly along at his brother's side.

'Where we going?' he managed, unable to make sense of his surroundings. It was all a disjointed mass of buildings and cars purring along a road that wavered in front of his vision like a mirage.

'The office,' Al replied, but he didn't sound too sure. Probably wanted to say "hospital" instead. 'It's closest. I can carry you if you want.' He grinned as Ed managed to focus on him with a pathetic glare.

'Don't you dare. I can make it. It's just...'

'Your head again?'

'Yeah.' Ed sucked in another breath, aware that he was leaning drunkenly against Al's shoulder. 'You steer, okay?'

Al looped his left arm around Ed's body, applying gentle nudges of pressure to guide him, half blind and clumsy, along the pavement. This close, Ed was vaguely aware of his brother's tension, and he realised it wasn't all just because Ed was so unusually helpless. He was keeping his eyes open for any sign of an attacker – either Foster or some of Clarke's men – and he felt a small surge of pride that Al could divide his attention so successfully.

'Don't think they'll attack in broad daylight, do you?' Ed managed, too busy watching where he was putting his feet to look up into his brother's face.

'I hope not, but I'm not taking any chances. We have no idea where Foster went, or where Clarke is. They must have more than one hiding place, and if they find out what happened...' Ed felt Al's shoulders shift in a shrug. 'We're just vulnerable, that's all.'

They walked in silence for a few minutes, but Ed knew it would not last long. He could feel the nervous thrum of Al's questions hovering unspoken in the air, and sure enough, before long, they were given voice.

'I saw what you did down there,' Al began, keeping his words quiet, pitched for Ed's ears only. 'That was more than just a simple change of state. Now do you believe what the General was getting at?'

Ed grunted, not sure he could handle this conversation right now. He wanted time to think about it, to analyse what had sprung forth unbidden from his hands and try to understand how he had done it, but there was no room in his mind for anything but the most basic level of thought. 'Yeah, I get it,' he replied at last. 'Something's changed. Something fundamental, but I don't –'

An intense throb in his head cut him off and Al's supportive presence was suddenly the only thing holding him up. 'Fuck,' he hissed, painfully longing to lie down where he stood, even if it meant Central's pedestrians had to walk over him.

'Not far now,' Al promised. 'I've got a few theories about what's going on, but they can wait until you can think without breaking your brain.' It was softly teasing, but Ed made out the undertones of worry. Al was used to seeing him healthy; injury was one thing, but this was not a wound that bled, at least not visibly. A bandage could not make it better, and Ed knew that Al was scared by the unknown of it.

Finally, the grey of pavement gave way to the packed dust of the parade ground, and Ed heard Al's brief conversation with the sentry before they were allowed to make their way into the Command building. Familiar steps and corridors slipped past unnoticed, and it was only when Al gave him a gentle push into the soft cradle of the sofa that Ed realised they were in Mustang's office.

He lay down with a grateful sigh, draping an arm over his eyes as Al began to rummage for painkillers in the first aid kit. The noise sounded like the percussion section of an orchestra falling off a cliff, and he clenched his jaw against the intrusion.

'Here, sip this and take these. You need to keep them down for at least half an hour for them to do any good,' Al warned, nudging a glass of water and two slim white pills into Ed's hand. He took them with care, feeling his stomach cramp and clench in warning at the invasion, but he managed to keep control. He felt green and sweaty, but as Al bustled around, drawing curtains and plunging the room into a blissful kind of twilight, Ed found a fragment of relief.

Mercifully, Al didn't ask any more questions, perhaps knowing that silence would be the best thing. Ed was not honestly sure how long he lay there, hyper-aware of the scratch of the couch cushions beneath his body and desperately trying to lose himself in the dark, but at some point he must have drifted off. One moment there was peace, and the next he was aware of voices in the outer office and something in his pocket digging into his hip.

With a faint groan, he peeled himself up into a sitting position, grimacing at the dried patina the clammy sweat had left on his face. His head panged a little, but was otherwise silent, and he groped in his pocket before pulling free the vial. White powder sparkled in the scant light that seeped through a chink in the curtains, looking like salt or sugar within the glass confines, but somehow he doubted it was that innocent.

Carefully, he got to his feet, suffering a wobbling moment of uncertainty before he eased his way over to Roy's office door and stepped across the threshold. A quick glance showed him everyone was accounted for, though Hawkeye had a piece of gauze taped over her cheek and Breda had a bruise on his chin. Unfortunately, the atmosphere was not one of triumph. Instead, edgy tension filled the outer office, and everyone was slumped in chairs or propped up on the edge of desks; defeated.

'Didn't catch anyone then?' he asked, allowing a faint smile as Roy looked over his shoulder in surprise, relief battling with concern on his features.

'No, three dead, and two who lost us in the sewers. Worse, by the time we got back to the room where we left you and Al, all the evidence was gone. Blankets had vanished, the desks had been smashed, and the bodies of the people we shot had been removed...' Roy shrugged his shoulders. 'Someone must have been waiting for their chance. There was nothing left except broken furniture and some scorch marks on the wall.'

'And these.' Ed reached into his vest, pulling out the crumpled stack of paper from where it still rested against his chest. He had been too agonised to remove it from its precarious hiding place, but now Roy looked as if he had literally pulled a rabbit right out of a hat. 'There's also this, which could be nothing, but you might want Bellamy to look at it.' He held up the vial of powder, surrendering it to Hughes' upturned palm. 'I almost trod on it down there in the dark.'

He felt the mood in the office shifting to something more akin to hope. Hughes was already moving, promising to talk to Bellamy straight away as Falman and Fuery sifted through the pile of paperwork, sorting it into some kind of vague order so they could make sense of the pile of information.

'These are copies,' Falman pointed out, showing the transcript number at the bottom of the page. 'Not originals.'

'It makes sense. The original documents will be kept under lock and key somewhere. These were just lying out in the open.' Roy sighed, shifting closer to Ed and nudging him gently back towards his office. 'Read each one. I want a report on the full details within the next two hours. We need to know what we were dealing with down there.'

A chorus of “Yes, sir,” was cut off by the closing door, and Ed felt the heavy weight of Roy's hands on his shoulders, warm and vital. The niggling concerns for Roy's safety dissipated entirely, swept away by the brush of Roy's fingers up to his jaw, where they cupped and stroked, beautifully gentle.

'Are you all right?' he asked, the commanding tones gone from his voice. This was lower, rougher and more intimate, and Ed felt the soft twist of happiness at Roy's obvious care.

'Better than I was. It's just my head again. Fuck knows what's going on.'

He closed his eyes as Roy pressed a kiss to his brow, the soft warmth lingering against his skin. He could feel the flutter of Roy's breath and the rasp of his stubble, and something about the closeness made Ed want to melt into Roy's arms and never let go.

'Do you believe me about your alchemy now?' Roy murmured, pressing his brow quickly to Ed's before guiding them both towards the sofa, away from the prying ears of the bugs.

'I'd be an idiot not to,' Ed replied, his smile faltering as he glanced down at his own hands where they were pressed snugly to Roy's waist. 'I just wish I knew how I did it. It's not the same as it was before.' He chewed his lip, as he looked up into Roy's eyes, seeing the mute urging in that gaze to explain what he meant.

'It feels the same – familiar, at least, but it's like all the middle ground between me thinking about the desired result and it actually happening are gone – no circles, no clapping. I didn't want to get blasted to bits by a grenade or burnt to nothing, and the alchemy made it happen.'

'It saved us all. That was a high load grenade in a close space. If it had gone off –' Roy did not finish that sentence. He didn't have to. That tiny room would have been a grave for all of them, unseen and unheard. 'The blast back would probably have killed the idiot who threw it, too, but I don't think he cared.'

'Was he one of the dead ones?' Ed asked, sighing when Roy nodded. 'What the fuck was going on down there?'

'You let me worry about that.' Roy's hands moved around to the back of Ed's neck, stroking in slow, soothing circles that helped to dispel the lingering pain in his head. 'I need you to focus on what's happening to you. We need to know if this is something you can control, and if it's going to hurt you every time you use it.'

'That'd be just my luck,' Ed muttered. He knew he should be grateful, excited even, but the main emotion sitting in his gut like rock was a deep level of doubt. It might be his power, but it wasn't the same as before. He had grown up with his old way of doing alchemy, and the only blip in progression was when he could suddenly clap and make an array work, rather than drawing it out. That was just a small change. This?

This was a whole new evolution. Foster had done something, and this was the result. An unpredictable level of ability, not even remotely under Ed's conscious control. How could he know it wouldn't backfire? How could he rely on it if he couldn't be sure it wasn't going to blow up in his face?

'I'll get Al to help,' he promised. 'Maybe between the two of us, we can figure out what's going on.'

'And you need to do it quickly,' Roy pointed out, his expression twisting with apology. 'It's very likely that this situation is going to escalate, and fast. Either Foster will do something to tip the balance, or Clarke will hurry along with his plans. Worse, the ones that got away from the sewer saw you do – whatever you did. That could change the playing field.'

Ed sucked in a breath, meeting Roy's gaze and seeing the fear there. For a split second, Ed thought it was of him and what he could do – but in the blink of an eye he realised the truth. Roy was afraid for him. All around them, something hung in the balance, thick and deadly, and Roy thought there was a good chance Ed wouldn't make it out unscathed.

Well, fuck that.

A confidence he didn't quite feel made him lift his chin, and he allowed himself a quick, feral kind of grin. 'Whatever happens, I'll make sure I can take care of myself. You've got to do the same. Got that?'

Emotions flickered across Roy's face, fleeting shadows over his expression. There was so much there that Ed couldn't label them all – concern and frustration, tenderness and something infinitely warmer – before he finally nodded.

It was a small promise, and one that Ed logically knew was not a guarantee. There was too much that could happen that was beyond their control. Yet it still made him think that, whatever the coming days threw their way, they could meet it head on. They'd get through this, whatever it was and whatever it took.

Somehow, Ed would make sure of that.


End file.
